Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone
by PhoenixAeternum
Summary: REPOST. AU, HG bond!fic. Originally a rewrite/expansion of the first chapter of Intromit's "Fate's Debt", this story became a monster all its own. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1: The Fall

**A/N:** _Hello all._

_In October of 2005, I began an expanded rewrite of Intromit's marvelous "Harry Potter and Fate's Debt". With Intromit's blessing and help (he betaed this story for some time), I wrote this story to some acclaim._

_In the spring of the next year, for personal reasons, I abandoned my work. By that time, my story, "Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone" had diverged so significantly from Intromit's original that they shared only very few similarities._

_At the end of 2007, having emerged from a sort of self-imposed exile, I decided to rework this story with the help of a friend and noted beta. The plan was for her to take full editorial control over the story, cutting words, lines, scenes, chapters, and plot lines in order to create a slimmed-down, more coherent story with little true involvement on my part, save rewrites where she deemed them necessary._

_It is now the last day of August as I write this, and I have received no feedback from her regarding our little endeavor; that's fine, I'm sure she's vanished for good reason and I hold no grudge. But I consider her now to have abandoned the project. That in mind, I'm looking for someone to fill her shoes. **Please contact me if you are interested.**_

_In the meantime, this is (nearly!) the original "Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone". I will post all of this story, chapter by chapter until number twenty-five, the last I ever wrote of this. When I have a new partner in crime, I will also begin to post the new version._

_Oh. And if you think it's terrible, there's really no reason to tell me; this story has no greater, no fiercer critic than me. I am far and away this story's greatest detractor. Hopefully the redux will change that._

_Anyway, this story is "Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone" and it's for Z. I hope you enjoy your stay._

**Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone**

**Chapter One**

**The Fall**

In the small, Victorian-styled village of Godric's Hollow, all was quiet. Apart from the sound of the rustling wind and the occasional squeak of the large windmill — situated in what could only be thought of as the centre of the town — there was not a sound.

The village was of a sort not at all uncommon considering the state of the times. Throughout the country the most peculiar things had been happening. Indeed, these odd things — mysterious gas leaks, obscure diseases that induced catatonia, and the recent bomb explosions in London — had been occurring on and off for the past decade.

The gas leaks and odd diseases that had been happening over the last several years had been, assumedly, freak-accidents. Nothing to be done about it; they were simply unpredictable acts of tragedy.

The recent London bombings, having had occurred less than a fortnight from this very night, had been blamed on Islamic extremists. Swift justice had been assured to the people by the government, although the lack of clear-cut evidence was disheartening to all.

Most of the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow were of the cautious sort and, because of the accidents and bombings having had occurred during the night nearly exclusively, stayed indoors after the sunlight hours. The villagers had taken to holing themselves up in their homes as soon as dusk fell upon their village. During their hole-ups they passed the time exchanging stories and playing innocuous games of merriment. Typically, this consisted of unceasing sessions of chess, card games, and the occasional drinking game for those still up to such things.

That is why on this particular night, a night when children should be out and about collecting tooth-rotting sweets from the neighbors and donning the dress of monsters past, all was silent.

As the last of the lights were extinguished from the sleepy, unsuspecting Hollowers (as they had taken to referring to themselves), the all-encompassing darkness of night took hold of the village. For now all was right; children slept, their heads full of the resentment of innocence and yet-to-be broken promises of sweets in the morning; the few teenage inhabitants of Godric's Hollow angrily slumbered, dreams of the unfairness of it all unceasingly occurring; the adults of the town fell into the same slumber as the night before, preparing for the monotonous tomorrow, whilst secretly hoping for an act of debauchery the following day; the old-people (they held a strong dislike of the term Hollowers and had opted for titles such as 'wizened' and 'elders', whilst being called 'soon-to-be's by the 'disrespectful' teenaged populous) slumbered peacefully, dreams of unnecessary lectures that they had yet to have forced upon the young people.

However, this peaceful scene was not destined to last. The tranquility of the night was broken by a soft pop heard only by those in the immediate area. None of the residents of Godric's Hollow registered the sound, too far in the realm of the dreaming to comprehend the tribulations of the sentient.

Had the populace of Godric's Hollow been in the realm of the living, they most certainly must have felt the presence of ultimate evil that had culminated in the exact spot where the pop resounded. The form of man stood there where nothing had been before, this man emanated an air of hideous, unspeakable power.

The moonless night that was in the sky, or rather ino/i in the sky, at the moment was very much advantageous to this atrocious figure. The figure ambled slowly, but with a terrible sort of grace, through the main road of the quiet, peace-loving village. The figure continued on up the road, passing the homes with odium in his very stride.

This abomination of existence continued to stride down this lonely road until he, quite abruptly, came to a halt. For a moment he simply stood and gazed at the wall in front him. Then, quite as suddenly as this repugnant man appeared, a house did just the same. It came into existence with neither herald nor preamble and stood the same as the surrounding homes.

It was an unremarkable structure. It bore the same subtle signs of age as the contiguous homes in the vicinity. The only feature of this home that set it apart from the others was the light that could be seen permeating from behind the heavy, black curtains that shielded the inside from view by the non-existent spectators.

The sin of a man outside of the newly-existing house let out a high-pitched, piercing laugh, devoid of all signs of mirth, and confidently strode toward the door of the house. He withdrew from the inside of his shapeless cloak a long, thin cylinder of wood. Upon pointing the offending object at the keyhole of the door, a yellow light shone before quickly dying out as the door creaked open.

Mere seconds after the figure of evil withdrew into the house, shouts, shrieks, and screams heralded the accompanying bright flashes of multicoloured light that began to permeate beyond the black curtain that hid the origination of the light-show from view.

Flashes of sickly green, bright yellow, deep red and brilliant gold were visible from the outside of the home. Shouting had been occurring since the evil being entered the house and now the shouting gained a tone of superlative urgency. The words were skewed and not immediately discernable to any potential spectators, but their meaning was clear: Run.

After several minutes of flashes and shouts, the black curtains shielding the ensuing battle of light burst, seemingly by an act of spontaneity, into flame. The scene revealed through the large windows was one of unadulterated chaos and destruction. The room revealed looked like a bomb had been exploded in it. The sections of the walls that remained in the room had great black scorch marks that appeared to have been attacked with an over-large blow-torch.

Several parts of the room, mostly furniture, were on fire. The floor was covered in ash and blood. A window to the right-side of the room was broken and the walls surrounding where the lone frame was looked to have been knocked out with heavy machinery.

Standing in the centre of the room were two men, arms raised, both bearing wooden shafts. One of the men was the one of indescribable evil, standing with his knees bent slightly in crouch, his gleaming red eyes fixed on the man in front of him. The other man stood straight-backed and proud, despite the fact that he had a large gash that extended from his left shoulder to right hip. The man had unruly black hair and vibrant brown eyes, although his hair was now singed and both eyes had taken on red edges, evidently having had blood leak into them. He looked straight into they eyes of the vile creature in front of him in an act of defiance. The battle of lights raged on.

Both men would shout a word or phrase and immediately following the bellow, a jet of coloured light shot out of their wooden shafts. The man of all-encompassing evil, of strenuous terror, was quite obviously winning this duel of light. He was not nearly as injured as the man opposite him, and he was fighting with finesse that would not be out of place at a ballet.

The men continued to wage war against each other, the man of darkness slowly winning. Then, the man of pure hatred pointed his shaft at the man opposite him and said two words. Following these two words was a light of sickly green, the sound of the opposite man's impending death was heard even from the curtain-less window and when the other man was hit with the light, the life seemed to recede from his eyes as his body slumped to the floor, defeated and spread-eagle.

For a moment all was silent, no sound was heard, no movement made. The silence was so absolute it rang loud and clear. And then the man laughed his mirthless, cruel laugh, thereby breaking the terrible silence with a sound all the more terrible.

The man of heinous evil turned away from the body of the fallen hero, a final display of superiority, before walking up the stairs where the man's supposed companion had fled earlier.

Outside of the house of the fallen hero, all was quiet. The air was thick with something akin to anticipation. A terrible, evil anticipation; anticipation of the terrible deed to come…. And then, it happened. A scream could be heard from within the house, screams not of pain or fury, but of pleading.

The companion of the fallen hero was pleading with the man of despicable evil; pleading for something more precious and selfless than many before her. For the person pleading with the man was surely a woman, her voice the octave of one that was frantic and hysterical.

The man laughed his cruel laugh and the same green light and rushing sound was heard. The death that awaited her was absolute, terribly irreversible. The man laughed his terrible, high-pitched laughter once more before the same green light that had surely ended the previous two was cast out of the wooden object.

Then, something most unexpected happened: a flash of brilliantly white light, a shriek of agony beyond anything that words can describe. And then, quite as suddenly as it happened, it stopped. The crying of a baby could be heard in the house of the fallen heroes.

The house itself was very much beyond repair: only two support beams held it together and the walls were nearly all knocked down.

The Hollowers had evidently heard the crying of the baby, for several began to poke their heads out of their doorways and windows trying to get a glance at what had caused the noise. That was when they saw the house, on fire and demolished and the baby's cry emanating eerily throughout the town.

None of the villagers thought to wonder where this house had come from, they simply rushed into the street outside of the house and looked on with morbid fascination as the house burnt and crumbled.

As if coming out of a deep trance, several of the villagers rushed into the house at once, hoping to save the crying child. Before the villagers could cross the threshold of the home, however, a man of enormous size rushed into the house, seemingly having appeared out of thin air, to do what he could.

The man emerged from the house a moment later, carrying a bundle of charred, ashen blankets with a small baby wrapped in them. Just then, a man called out from the crowd.

"Hagrid! Hagrid, what's happened? Are—" he stopped his barely formed question as he looked more closely at Hagrid. The adults of the house had not emerged, the baby however, had. He realised what must have happened.

"Hagrid, I'm his Godfather, I'll take him." the man spoke with determination.

"Can' let ya take 'em, Sirius. Professor Dumbledore tol' me ter come down 'ere and get Harry 'ere ter his aunt's." the man called Hagrid said in a gruff, broken English.

The man referred to as Sirius gained a look of defeat and his shoulders slumped. That was when a look of understanding, determination, and uncontrollable rage overtook him.

"Take my motorbike, Hagrid. I won't need it anymore," Sirius said, rage building more completely in him than ever before. The look in his eye was one of murderous resolve. This man had a plan, and this plan was going to have someone hurt.

Hagrid nodded, and said to him, "I'm sorry, Sirius. I know how much they meant ter yeh." Tears began to well up in his eyes having seen the destruction. He gave Sirius a strong, firm hug, thanked him for lending him his motorbike, (he knew how much he prized it) and took off in the direction of Surrey.


	2. Chapter 2: Indefinite Damnation

**Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone**

**Chapter Two  
Indefinite Damnation**

Hundreds of miles away, a man sat in an upper-class office, surrounded by silver, spindly instruments of unknown purpose. He was a very old man who, despite his impressive age, seemed to radiate youthfulness and vitality.

He sat in a very comfortable looking, high-backed chair, gazing straight, staring at an inconspicuous spot on his door. His elbows were resting on the desk that stood before him, his fingers steeped together. His eyes were an azure-blue that seemed to permanently have sparks of light bouncing in them.

Albus Dumbledore was a very eccentric man. His eccentrics made him seem mad—eccentricity bordering on senility. He was a man of quirks beyond measure, but at the same time was considered by most to be the greatest sorcerer in the world. This did not please his arch-nemesis, Lord Voldemort, but it could not be helped.

Albus was realistic about his ability in comparison with Lord Voldemort. He knew that Voldemort was capable of more things than Albus Dumbledore would ever be. His knowledge of magic was more complete than any man's. This included the magical knowledge of the hailed omnipotent Albus Dumbledore.

Yes, Albus Dumbledore was a powerful man. He was looked upon as the manifestation and personification of the Light. He was a man who seemed to ooze power. His was not an evil power, but it was still power, and all men feared those in a position of power greater than their own.

Albus Dumbledore, Champion of the Light, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot… the list went on. He was not seen to many as a man, and in many ways Albus Dumbledore was not a man at all, at least that would the impression you received if ever you were to converse with him.

Albus Dumbledore seemed to transcend the position of mortal. To the world he was something of a demigod, treated with such veneration it was prone to the occasional rotting of one's tooth.

Tonight, the illustrious Albus Dumbledore could be seen in a very odd mood. He was, at the same time, conveying several emotions. The look of Albus' eyes (twinkling so damnedly) showed an emotion often seen on the old man's face: happiness. The slight furrow of Dumbledore's brow, however, showed a different emotion entirely.

It was obvious to anyone in the immediate vicinity that Albus Dumbledore's mind was working overtime to comprehend the latest turn of events. It was truly astounding to the man that such a thing had happened.

The slight twitch that could be seen at the base of his beard could indicate several things. Either Albus Dumbledore was irritated, puzzled, upset, or simply had decided to provide accommodation to a bird during the cold, pre-winter autumn that had begun in gusto only recently.

Some would discount the final possibility. After all, who in their right mind would house a bird in their beard? Dumbledore, however, was not considered (by some) to be _in_ his right mind, so that was hardly an issue to debate. Albus' left ear twitched ever-so-slightly every thirteenth second that he continued to ponder the night's events.

It had been quite an ordinary night for the leader of the fight against Voldemort. Dumbledore was at an activity that was not at all foreign to the old man. He would sit in his chair in office, stare into the fire, and occasionally mutter to himself some word or phrase that meant something to him and him only.

Mere hours before now, the Potters had been attacked by the Dark Lord Voldemort. From what Dumbledore could gather, the Potters had been betrayed by their secret-keeper, Sirius Black, to Lord Voldemort. It pained Albus that Sirius Black had betrayed the Potters. He had always liked the man-turned-traitor.

With a heavy sigh, Albus set out to other orders of business: what to do with young Harry. After an hour or so of pondering, he had come to a conclusion: send Harry to live with his only relatives — the Dursleys. He had already informed Hagrid to take him there, but it never hurt to take a moment to review one's plans.

Albus Dumbledore shuddered slightly at the thought of what Lily Potter would do to him if he tried to send Harry there with her awareness of the event. She always had—it pained Albus greatly to have to speak of her in the past-tense—the most delightful of tempers. The Potters had specifically stated that Harry was by no means to go to live with the Dursleys and that he was to live with Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, or Peter Pettigrew; whichever seemed most capable or, under more dire circumstances, whichever still lived.

Dumbledore knew little of Lily's only living relations. They were Muggles, of course; this much, Albus knew. They had in the last year, borne a son of their own. Ducky, he thought the boy was called. _What an enthralling name! _

Petunia, Lily sister, Albus Dumbledore knew only by reputation. And it was not a flattering one. Her husband, Vernon Dursley, was in the Muggle business of drills, beyond that Albus knew nothing of him.

Lily had rarely spoken of her sister and her sister's family. Indeed, the most Albus had ever heard her speak of her estranged relation was the time when she and James had forbade Albus from sending Harry there in the event of their deaths, mere weeks previously.

From what Dumbledore knew, the Dursleys hated magic. This was the Potters primary concern about Harry potentially being sent there. Lily was terrified that her sisters dislike of magic combined with her loathing of Lily herself would result in terrible abuse being heaped upon Harry.

Albus Dumbledore, however, had no such concerns. He was wary of Lily and James' admonition that Harry must never have to go there. Dumbledore, however, knew what must be done. He could only hope that the Dursleys would treat Harry reasonably well. Everything was dependant on it, after all.

Dumbledore reached into a drawer on the left-hand side of his regal desk and withdrew a piece of parchment. Retracting a quill from the ink-pot on his desk, he began to write.

Dumbledore wrote for nearly two hours before sighing and getting to his feet. It was now time to voyage to the Dursley home and deliver to them young Harry. It was with a heavy heart that he set off to Little Whinging, Surrey.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley were perfectly normal in all ways. They lived in the plainest of neighborhoods; each house looked nearly identical to the one beside it. The only distinguishing characteristic between the houses on Privet Drive was often the luxury car that sat in the driveway of each.

The Dursleys resided in Number Four and were perfectly happy to do so. To them, four, as an even number, was perfectly respectable. In their minds, however, the outside of this respectable home was n_othing _compared to the God's gift to humanity that reside inside its walls. The Dursleys had a _wonderful_ baby boy. Dudley was the most perfect little thing they could have hoped for him to be (they never did have high hopes, those Dursleys). In the minds of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, he could do no wrong.

Vernon was a large man who reminded most who met him of either a slab of beef or a rather large beet. He had a large mustache and more chins than he had fingers. It was astounding that a man with as many chins as Vernon Dursley had almost no neck. Vernon was very-much overweight, a fact immediately apparent to any who met him, and he had a temper when he set his mind to it.

Petunia Dursley, his wife, was a thin woman with a tight face. She had an exorbitant amount of neck which she put to constant good use. She spent a great deal of her time poking her head out from behind bushes or craning over fences in order to get a good look at the neighbors and their abnormalities, which she used as constant gossip-fodder—one of her favorite self-imposed duties.

Petunia constantly gushed over their overweight child, a slave to his every infantile whim. Vernon would view the antics of his son—his pride and joy, mind you—with a proud look on his face. Dudley would often use his small, plastic baby-spoon as a make-shift catapult. The ammunition was nearly always the high-quality baby-food that his mother fed him out of a small glass container.

Any time Dudley would do such a thing, Vernon would chuckle to himself. Vernon would reach over across the table and ruffle Dudley's blond wisps of hair and chortle such phrases as 'Little tyke' or 'Atta boy, Dudley!'.

Mrs. Dursley would take her gushings to new extremes and would sometimes burst into tears, happily gasping 'Darling boy' or 'My little Dinky-Duddykins!' between sobs of unnecessary elation.

The outside observer would remark, upon getting a look of the youngest Dursley, that he was amongst the fattest babies they had ever seen. Dudley was a mammoth of an infant whose appetite for both destruction and food knew no ceasing to the engorgement.

The Dursley home itself was, when Dudley wasn't amidst a temper-tantrum, immaculately clean. The sitting room bore pictures of what could only be thought of as a beach-ball wearing different coloured bonnets on the mantle. Dudley Dursley really did bear a slight more than a passing resemblance to a beach-ball, come-to-think….

The kitchen, Mrs. Dursley's pride and joy, was a surgically white colour. She took great pains in making her home quite clean and free of any blemish, discolouration, or other such tarring of her home's normalcy.

There were four bedrooms in their home. One for Vernon and Petunia (this bedroom, being the master, was the largest of the four but contained a rather sunken bed thanks to the considerable girth of Vernon Dursley), one for Dudley (this bedroom currently contained a crib and walls that had been papered in a 'pansy colour', as Mr. Dursley so eloquently put it, by Petunia Dursley), another that was planned to be something of a storage room for Dudley where he would keep all of his 'delightful' toys and trinkets when his first bedroom no longer contained room for them, and the final bedroom was a guest bedroom that was more often inhabited by Vernon's sister Marge than anyone else.

Today the Dursley family could be seen sitting around a circular table in their dinning room connected to the kitchen. Vernon was reading his newspaper with a large amassment of egg-yolk in his overlarge, handlebar mustache. Petunia was sitting across from him, sipping a cup of tea (pinky out, of course), whilst watching with uncontained glee as her baby-boy Dudley banged his plastic cup on the small plastic tray in front of him.

"Oh my darling Dinky-Diddydums, you're so clever!" Petunia said in an overly-sweet tone that is often used on infants. Dudley responded by banging his cup once more before flailing his overly-large arm into his canister of baby-food, knocking it to the floor where it shattered.

"Oh dear, Diddy," Petunia said, still in that cheerful tone, although now there was an undertone of sombreness. She quickly scurried over to the broken remains and began picking them out of the bits of food that it was covered in.

"Little tyke," Vernon chortled between bites of his eggs. He chuckled a bit before looking back down to his plate to begin shoveling more of the white-and-yellow eggs into his face. He never did notice the rather large bit of egg in both his mustache and that slowly began to work his way down to his lap.

Dudley, realising that this meant no more food, began to wail loudly. His face was screwed up and red as tears began to fall from his eyes. Petunia began coddling Dudley in record-time. "It's okay, darling," Petunia said before going to the pantry in the corner of the room to pull out several more containers of baby food. That seemed to brighten Dudley up a bit.

Vernon looked at his watch and quickly was on his feet, "Must be off," he said to perhaps Petunia, perhaps Dudley, perhaps both, "A rather large deal today!" Vernon said like such a thing should make him important in the eyes of his infant son.

"Good-bye, dear," Petunia said to him before pecking his cheek, "and good luck!" Vernon grunted before bowing down to give his whale of a son a kiss, but was stopped when Dudley began throwing food around the room. Vernon settled for mussing his hair and chuckling, "Little tyke!"

Vernon gathered his keys from a no-longer-used ashtray, seized the doorknob, and stepped into the overcast, November morning. The very first thing Mr. Dursley saw as he began to amble down the small foot-stone path to the drive upon where his car was parked was a rather stern looking tabby cat that was staring at him with a stony gaze—a gaze made all the more stony due to the unusual markings about the cat's eyes—from the top of the brick wall that stood outside of his home. _Cats do not stare! They might look – but they do not stare!_ Vernon berated himself mentally.

He glared at the cat, who promptly returned the glare. _Cats do __**not**__ glare!_ he thought with a mix of anger and desperation. Huffing, he turned away from the feline fiend that dared do something out-of-the-ordinary. He set off, once more, to his car. Inserting the key and opening the door of his sedan, he set one foot in the car before turning to look at the cat again.

The cat was poring over a map—a _map_? Vernon quickly shot his head back to the spot the cat sat, for he had begun to turn his head before recognition of the absurdity of a _cat_ reading a _map_ hit him. But when Vernon Dursley looked once more at the spot the map had been, it was gone.

Vernon grumbled under his breath about tricks of the light before getting in his car and backing out of his concrete drive. He pulled out rather more quickly than he normally would, due to his bad mood. Adjusting his mirror, he looked at the cat once more, this time to see it reading the street sign that stood near the exit of Privet Drive.

_CATS CANNOT READ!_ Vernon silently shouted. _It is looking—LOOKING—at the street sign! Get a hold of yourself, man!_ Vernon continued to rant exasperatedly sub-vocally. He maneuvered his sedan out of the street, determined not to look at the cat again.

Before long he was on the motorway on his way to Grunnings, the drill company that he was the director of. The drive, much to Vernon's satisfaction, was completely uneventful. He was five minutes away from the office when something came along that completely ruined his new-found good mood.

There were people about—the oddest sort of people—wearing cloaks and robes of various colours. There were people dressed in several different colours—ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues, grays—and it agitated Vernon to no end. He despised those who wore unusual clothing. Traipsing around in robes indeed!

After more mental debating than he often expended on even work, he came to the conclusion that this was some sort of trend amongst the youth. Children these days! Prancing around in such an unnatural manner; who would hold with such nonsense? Certainly not him or his wife, of that much he could be sure.

Eventually he made his way to the office where he proceeded to have a very enjoyable day. The deal he had been hoping for was going well and Mr. Witherlocke (the man with whom Vernon was dealing) had just suggested they break from their dealings for a spot of lunch.

Vernon agreed whole-heartedly, both because he was hungry, and because he wanted to agree with anything the man who could get him in touch with a sizable sum of cash had to suggest. Mr. Witherlocke had decided to go out for to a restaurant in town to meet up with his daughter for a spot of tea.

Vernon elected to go across the street to the bakers' and get himself a bun. He told his secretary that he would be back in ten minutes before setting off to the bakers'. It was when Mr. Dursley made it onto the street that he saw a rather large group of those robed figures.

Vernon seethed upon seeing that one of the men had to be older than he was! After more mental contemplation he decided that they were collecting for something. Yes, that must be it. It's just a silly demonstration of some sort. He ignored the fact that there was no collecting tin in sight.

As Vernon walked past, he caught snippets of their conversation. A conversation that was held in hushed tones, being spoken of quickly.

"—and he was gone!"

"Just gone? Certainly—"

"Yes, just gone! Dissa—"

"And it was the Potters? You're certain?"

Vernon paled considerably upon hearing this. The Potters—surely they didn't mean Petunia sister's family? They, too, were called Potter. If anyone ever got wind that Vernon and Petunia knew such people… Let alone the fact that Petunia was _related_ to one! Vernon shuddered involuntarily at the thought before returning his attention to the people before him.

"—just they're son left. Harry they called him,"

Vernon paled considerably more upon hearing this tidbit. The Potters had a son; that son was named Harry. But Potter is a common enough name; and so is Harry for that matter! Vernon tried to convince himself of this, but upon hearing the next statement, he quickly scampered off back to the office; bun forgotten.

"—just a little baby and You-Know-Who couldn't touch him!"

Upon arriving back at his office, Vernon slammed the door and barked the instruction to his secretary that short of the building burning down, he was not to be disturbed! It was becoming quite obvious that Vernon was disturbed enough on his own without the aid of burning buildings and seekers of the upper-hand.

Vernon was half-way through ringing his home number to tell Petunia of what he had heard, but stopped himself. Potter was a common name; Harry was as well. And he most certainly _did not_ know who! Such silliness, getting worked up about what some man of oddity said down near the bakers'. Vernon would have laughed to himself about it if it weren't for his secretary's voice coming through the small intercom on his desk.

"Mr. Dursley, sir, I informed Mr. Witherlocke of your wishes not to be disturbed. I'm afraid he was a bit cross and stormed out of here. You've lost the deal, sir," his secretary, Jacqueline was her name, said through the intercom.

Now Vernon was really heated. He'd lost the deal? It very well could have been the biggest deal of his life! The rest of the afternoon went by quickly. Vernon yelled a bit at his secretary, fired her, and made several heated telephone calls. By the end of the day, Vernon had regained some of his composure and felt able to return home to face Mrs. Dursley.

The drive home was decidedly uneventful after he had escaped the clutches of the oddly dressed. He noticed on his way back to Number Four that the Potter-Speakers were still there. They were dressed just as unusually, just as abnormally, as before. Vernon fumed about the indecency of forcing others to look at them with their colourful robes and cloaks. He had to resist driving his sedan into them several times on multiple occasions.

He drove on until at long last he made his way back into the _respectable_ neighborhood of Privet Drive. Vernon nearly skipped on his way up the stone-walkway. There weren't any of those odd people here! No, sir! No collecting tin-bearing, robe-wearing, outlandish-looking _people_ here!

Just as Vernon was working up into a gleeful laugh, he saw something that made his mood come crashing down. The tabby cat that was sitting on the wall from before was still there! Vernon glared at the cat, who glared back once more, before barking at it, "Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here, you bloody cat!" Vernon said in a louder-than-necessary voice.

When the cat did not so much as flinch, Vernon was prepared to get violent. But before this could happen his wife appeared at the door with a reproving look, "Vernon! Get inside. What if the neighbors see?" this quickly convinced Vernon to forget about that damned tabby and get in his home before the neighbors began to stare.

"Sorry, dear," Vernon mumbled in what could be considered meek voice, at least for Vernon Dursley it could be. Vernon shuffled his feet up the pathway and entered his place of residence. It was once Vernon entered his home that he looked at Petunia fully and remembered the curious events of the day.

He had resolved to try and ask Petunia about it. He knew it would be no easy task; Petunia spent a great deal of time and energy pretending her sister and her family did not exist. He stared at Petunia for a time before striding through the corridor of the entry-hall and entered the sitting-room.

Vernon was sitting in his favorite chair, a leather recliner, when his wife entered the room, a glass of brandy in hand. Dudley, evidently, had been put to sleep. She handed the brandy to Vernon, who nodded gratefully before she sat in the other chair in the room; near Vernon's. They sat in silence for a moment or two before Vernon decided to turn on the television to watch the nightly news.

A man was on the television in a pressed suit, "And tonight, Ted, I have to report that instead of the rain I promised, we've had showers of _shooting stars!_" the wonder in the weather-man's voice was obvious and genuine. "Star-gazers from as far as Kent have been reporting shooting stars streaking across the sky! It would appear that some people are celebrating Bonfire Night a bit early, eh Ted?"

A pompous looking anchorman in his mid-forties came into view on the television and answered just as pompously as one might have suspected of his appearance, "Perhaps, Jim, perhaps. Today we have yet another unusual report to give to you. The nation's owls seem to have confused day for night. Owls have been reported to be flying around in broad daylight all-day long! Owl experts have as of yet to give an official statement, but it would appear that they are just as baffled as we are!" the pompous reporter said, his clean-shaven face looking into the camera.

The Dursleys, whilst not particularly interested in the goings-on of owls, were engrossed enough in the programme so as not to notice the stern tabby peering into their window from the outside.

Before long Petunia was discussing the events of her day; Dudley, she delightedly informed Vernon, learnt a new word: won't. Petunia couldn't have been happier; her _darling_ son was growing-up (and out)! Vernon listened to all of this with half an ear. He was now brooding over his day. Wretched people in funny clothing….

Vernon grunted in all the appropriate places and before long Petunia was inquiring about his day. Vernon wasn't quite sure what to tell her; her sister was a touchy subject, after all. Then again, if _Vernon_ had had a sister like _that_….

Vernon decided to explain his day until the point of the mention of the word 'Potter', at which point he would be forced to improvise. He told her of Mr. Witherlocke and began to describe his lunch hour when he faltered ever-so-slightly. He resolved to tell her now, she might know if _they _had a son named Harry.

"—and then I thought I might stretch my legs a bit and get myself a bun from across the way," Vernon said to his attentive wife, "I was just outside the office when these men in _funny_ clothes were whispering. I was passing by and heard what they were discussing…" here Vernon trailed off. How was he supposed to tell his wife about people who could be her sister's family when she spent so much time ignoring her existence?

"Yes, dear?" Petunia asked, having just recovered from hearing about people dressed in _unusual_ clothing. She hated things that were unusual; unusual clothing more than most other things.

"They were—erm—talking about some people named the—erm," here he paused. When he continued, it was in a barely-audible whisper, "Potters," he managed to squeak out.

As expected, Petunia stiffened at the mention of her sister's family. Vernon, taking her silence as some sort of encouragement to continue on, went on, "They've got a son, don't they? About Dudley's age?" he asked, rather more timidly than one would expect out of a man of Vernon Dursley's size.

"I expect so!" Petunia snapped. She really did not want to talk about the _Potters_ of all people!

"Harrison, his name was—wasn't it?" Vernon asked hopefully.

"_Harry_. Filthy common name, as far as I'm concerned!" Petunia corrected her husband with a snap.

At her words, Vernon deflated considerably, "Oh, yes, dreadful," he said, his heart sinking straight into his toes.

"_Why_?"

"Odd sorts about; thought it might have something to do with _their_ crowd,"

Petunia sniffed sharply, but had no supplementary reaction. An hour later the two Dursleys headed up to bed—Vernon with his heart in his toes; Petunia irritated by Vernon's mentioning of her _freak_ sister.

Vernon got into bed and under the covers while his wife used the lavatory. His mind was running quickly—due to his immensely panic state. Even if it _does_ have to do with the Potters; they've no reason to come anywhere near _respectable_ people like him and his wife. He seemed desperate to convince of this line of thinking.

His wife exited the toilet a moment later and got under the covers with her husband. She slept on the far edge of the bed, so as not to fall into the pit that Vernon created with his body every night; the pit that remained everlastingly sagged into the bed, regardless of Vernon's location.

Within minutes, Petunia had fallen asleep. Vernon, however, had no such luck; he lay awake for nearly an hour pondering the events of the day. None of_ them_ would _dare_ come anywhere _near_ him or his family. He was astoundingly wrong, of course.

Outside of Number Four, on the street of Privet Drive, there was not a sound. All curtains were closed, all lights extinguished. All was tranquil and nothing moved. Not even the cat that _still_ sat on the wall of Number Four.

At the end of the street, by the corner bearing the street-sign that signified Privet Drive, a man suddenly appeared. He was accompanied by a soft pop, but beyond that nothing.

The man himself would be viewed as appalling if the inhabitants of Privet Drive were attentive enough to recognise his arrival. This man was quite a sight; what with his high-heeled, silver-buckled boots, long white beard and hair, both of which could have comfortably been tucked into his belt. He wore long purple robes that touched the ground despite his boots. His eyes were a very bright, blue colour and seemed alive with an amount of effervescence that was staggering considering the man's obvious old-age. His eyes were partially hidden by half-moon spectacles that rested on the bridge of his long nose that looked to have been broken more than once.

Albus Dumbledore was starkly indifferent to the fact that everything about him, from his name to his woolen-socks that were hidden behind his long robes, was very much unwelcome in such an orderly place as Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley would have positively fainted.

Dumbledore rummaged in his cloak for a moment before a quick 'aha!' escaped his lips. He pulled out what looked to be an ordinary, silver cigarette lighter. Dumbledore deftly flicked the top of the lighter off where it proceeded to lightly touch the side, thanks to the miniscule hinges on the side.

Dumbledore employed the left-hand side of his right-hand thumb on the small wheel of the lighter. He held out his right arm in the direction of the nearest lamp post and, with a quick swipe of his thumb, the miniature wheel situated on top of the lighter spun for half a moment before the nearest lamp-post's light was mysteriously vacuumed into the lighter.

This must have been expected, for Albus Dumbledore's face bore no signs of shock, and he simply proceeded to repeat the process eleven more times, successfully extinguishing any and all light, before flicking the top back onto the base of the lighter and looking at the far-side of the street where Number Four lay.

During all this time and through all of the events with the cigarette lighter, the cat that had sitting on the brick wall had not moved. It simply gazed upon Dumbledore, waiting. It was lucky for the cat it was dark out, for seemingly the only reason Albus Dumbledore noticed it was because its eyes were the brightest things on the dark street.

Dumbledore saw the cat and let out from his aged lips, a small chuckle. He gazed at it for a moment before murmuring, "I ought to have known," seemingly to himself. Without preamble, Albus Dumbledore strode to the end of the street. He stopped when he reached the wall that the stiff cat sat upon, before taking a seat beside it.

For a moment Dumbledore did nothing and simply sat, while his thumbs twiddled. Throughout the entire duration of Albus Dumbledore's thumb-twiddling, the cat sat and, quite still, and stared at the man. After a moment, Dumbledore spoke to the cat, whilst staring straight ahead. "Imagine discovering you here, Professor McGonagall," he said quietly.

As he completed his sentence, he looked to his right where the cat was sitting. However, where there was once a cat, there was now a rather stern and severe, older-looking woman with her black hair drawn into a tight bun wearing glasses bearing the exact shape of the markings around the cat's eyes; a cat no more.

"What gave me away, Professor Dumbledore?" the former cat said, in a Scottish brogue.

"Never, in all my days, have I seen such a stiff and well-behaved cat," he responded.

She responded with what could only be described as a hiss, capable of being delivered only by a cat; this caused Dumbledore to chuckle. "You'd be stiff too—sitting on this wall all day! As for well behaved…" Professor McGonagall trailed off, though she looked somewhat mollified.

"And what, Professor, compelled you to sit on this wall, all day?" Professor Dumbledore inquired.

"I've been waiting for you, of course!" McGonagall responded in a tone of voice that suggested it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And how, my dear Professor, did you know I would be here?" Dumbledore asked the not-actually-a-cat.

"Hagrid," she admitted, somewhat grudgingly.

"Ah," was all he said in response.

There was silence for a time; Dumbledore was staring off into the distance, evidently deep in thought. McGonagall, however, was quite twitchy at the moment and was having difficulty staying still. Finally, McGonagall broke the silence, "Is it true, Albus? What they're saying?"

Dumbledore did not respond, so McGonagall pressed on, "About You-Know-Who, Albus? They say he's gone! They're saying that he arrived in Godric's Hollow last night looking for the Potters," she paused here for a moment, "They say that he—he killed them! That he killed Lily and James," at Dumbledore's solemn nod, McGonagall lost her composure, "Is it true, Albus? That he killed Lily and James, but couldn't kill their son? They say that he tried to kill him, but he couldn't!" quite obviously this was something that McGonagall was dying to know; the true reason she had been sitting on the Dursley's brick wall all day.

"Alas, it is indeed the truth," Dumbledore said, after a pregnant pause. McGonagall's obviously mournful, yet elated look spurred him to answer her unspoken question. "I do not know how he survived; alas, I suspect I never will."

"They say that the curse—they say it backfired!" McGonagall both stated and asked, obviously astonished. McGonagall looked at the old man before her, waiting for some elaboration. She got it, although clearly she expected more, when all Dumbledore did was nod.

"Why are you not partaking in one the wonderful feasts that I have passed on my way here, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked the woman.

McGonagall snorted. "Fools! They're celebrating in surplus—even the Muggles have noticed! It was on their news," she was building up into a rant now, "Pecks—I mean packs—of owls; shooting stars!—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle, he always was one for senselessness. The Muggles aren't _entirely_ dim-witted enough to not notice it! Wouldn't it be rich if on the day he's finally disappeared, the Muggles found us out all over again?"

"What will become of him, Albus?"

"Ah, well, that brings me to why I am here, actually," Dumbledore said to McGonagall. As soon as Dumbledore had spoken the end of that sentence, McGonagall looked stricken. "Harry is to come to live with the Dursleys; they're all the family he has left, now." before he finished, he realised opening his mouth had been a mistake.

"Here—Surely you're—_Here?_—You're sending the savior of the Wizarding world to live _here_?" she asked incredulously. "You can't send him _here, _Albus! I've been watching them _all day_; they're the most terrible sort of Muggles anywhere! You couldn't find a family less like us if you tried! Anywhere! The wife spends all of her time spying on the neighbors; the father is the most irritating man I've ever met in my life, worse than my milkman at my summer cottage! And the son—Oh the son! I watched him kick his mother and wail on and on about sweets! _Harry Potter_ come to live _here_?" McGonagall finished her rant, panting and still looking supremely incredulous.

"It truly is the best place for him, Minerva," Dumbledore said compellingly, "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's a bit older, it would be a bit much at such a young age; I've written to them, a letter." he pointed to his breast with the last sentence.

McGonagall looked irate, "A letter? A _letter_, Albus? Do you actually think you can explain everything in a simple _letter_?" she demanded of him, quite indignantly. She began to mumble to herself, although Dumbledore caught every word. "Absolute _worst_ sort of Muggles—Can't believe—Bloody letter!—They'll never understand him—Harry Potter Day in the future!—Books written about him—A bloody _letter_?"

"Don't you see, Minerva? He would be famous in our world. Every child will grow up with his name fixed firmly in their minds. He'll be famous for something he has absolutely no recollection of," Dumbledore said, "He will grow up normally here; no renown to turn his head. Can't you see how much better this will be for him? Here with family, instead of with people who will worships the ground that he tread upon?"

She opened her mouth, beginning to sputter once more with the now familiar indignation at her lips; then stopped. She swallowed and allowed herself a moment to regain her composure. She sighed resignedly, "You're right of course, Dumbledore. How is he getting here?" she asked, while staring at his beard, which was twitching every few moments, trying to see if he had hidden the boy inside it.

Dumbledore took a moment to look amused at McGonagall's inspection of his rather magnificent beard before answering her with the simple phrase, "Hagrid is bringing him."

McGonagall looked slightly surprised at this information. After a moment, she said to Dumbledore in a most hesitant, quite unusual in her brogue, voice, "Are you certain it—well—_wise _to entrust Hagrid with such a thing? He is a bit…" her voice trailed off.

"I would trust Hagrid with my life, as I would you." Dumbledore stated matter-of-factly.

McGonagall looked slightly mollified for a moment before beginning to speak, "I'm not saying he doesn't mean well…" McGonagall began slowly, "He's a bit careless, though. You can't pretend he's the most—well—_responsible _person in the world. He does tend to be a bit… _overzealous _at times." McGonagall finished.

Dumbledore ignored her comments about Hagrid's character and rummaged in his cloak for a moment before giving a slight smile, indicative that he had found that which he sought. He pulled out from the folds of his robes a very odd, old-fashioned pocket-watch. The watch bore runic symbols and moving and spinning planets on the outer edges. This watch had not three hands, as you may be accustomed to, but rather it had twelve. He examined it closely for a moment, several of the hands moving, creating a light ticking sound. He sigh briefly before speaking to McGonagall who was currently staring off into the night, "Hagrid's late. He was to be here by now; hopefully trouble has not—"

At that moment a faint rumbling sound could be heard on the streets of Little Whinging. McGonagall and Dumbledore looked around for a moment, as though expecting nothing less than a tank to come rolling up. After a few moments, light could be seen overhead.

Both Dumbledore and McGonagall looked up at the heavens, expecting perhaps to be sucked into them. A moment later, an immensely large motorbike descended from the sky and touched down on the ground with a clang.

Situated atop the overly-large motorbike was a man that, if it were possible, was even more out of place than either the motorbike _or_ Albus Dumbledore. The man—if you could call him that—that sat upon the motorbike was _huge_. He was at least a dozen feet tall and quite wide-enough to be getting on with. He was twice as tall as a normal man and a several times as large; such abnormality could cause Mrs. Dursley to have a heart-attack. This man wore a trench-coat large enough to hide a man in quite comfortably. His hands were large enough to crush a waste bin without effort and his feet looked to be most of the length of a normal-sized man's arm. In his vast, muscular arms (themselves the size of a man's leg) was a bundle of light-coloured, woolen blankets.

Hagrid having just turned off the motorbike, Dumbledore spoke in a very relieved tone, eyes sparkling in full-force, "Hagrid; at last," Dumbledore looked at the motorbike and added, "And where did you get this motorbike, Hagrid?"

Clambering off the motorbike carefully, so as not to disturb his blanket-adorned bundle, Hagrid responded, "I—er—borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Young Sirius Black's lent it ter me."

The twinkling of Dumbledore's eyes ceased at the mention of Sirius Black, but beyond that there was no visible sign of turmoil. After a brief moment, Dumbledore spoke. "And Harry?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"I got 'im right here, Professor, sir." Hagrid motioned with his left arm to the bundle he was carrying with his right.

"And did you encounter any impediments, Hagrid?"

"No sir. The house was nearly burnt down ter the ground when I got there; but I managed ter get 'im out before the Muggles stormed the place. He fell asleep while we was flyin' over Bristol."

Both Dumbledore and McGonagall craned their necks a bit to get a glance of what was contained in the bundle in Hagrid's arms. Inside of the bundle, barely in view, was a baby boy, not much older than a year's age, sleeping like a stone. His hair was comprised of a concentration of wisps of soft, jet-black hair. Upon his forehead was something that caused McGonagall to gasp and make Dumbledore lose what little twinkle he had retained from Hagrid's report. Barely visible was a crude cut in a most curious shape: a jagged lightning bolt.

"Is that where…" she trailed off. She was speaking in a voice barely audible, just above a whisper. It was a very disconcerting thing to see the relic of one of the most significant events of the age.

"Yes; he will have that scar until the day he shall die," Dumbledore said, his voice showing his extreme moroseness. The customary twinkle in his eye was so far gone that it looked to any in the vicinity as though the life itself had fled from the man. Very softly, indeed quietly enough that one had to strain to hear him, he finished, "And I hope that to be a long-way in coming, indeed."

The three figures stood there for a moment, staring at the boy and his scar. Dumbledore's shoulders were slumped, a defeated air about him. Hagrid's shoulders shook, silent sobs racking his body. Their female companion stood stock-still for a moment before letting out a heart-wrenching sob and turning into Dumbledore's shoulder to sob silently.

Dumbledore patted her back with one hand; his other arm was occupied in a tender embrace. "There, there, my dear woman. All will be well in the end." Dumbledore sounded more hopeful than convinced.

For a brief moment that none of his companions saw, Dumbledore's eyes looked pained and worried. He knew something; something more than he let on—something that he was not sharing with the others: a terrible truth.

After a moment, Albus spoke to the night, "Well, there is no use dawdling; we may as well be done with this and join one of the celebrations, if not for our sakes, than for others. There is nothing to be done, nothing to be gained, by our remaining." He freed himself from their embrace and stepped toward Hagrid.

He gently extricated Harry from Hagrid's gentle grasp with gentility and caring that seemed out of place for one of his age. He carried Harry to the front-door of the Dursley home before placing him on the door mat and extracting from his long robes, a letter. He placed the letter on the navel of young Harry and stepped back.

He and his fellows gazed at the boy and his home-to-be for a moment before a great heart-wrenching wail from Hagrid broke the silence. McGonagall patted him on his great forearm for a moment before Dumbledore broke the now-silent atmosphere, "We ought to leave; we have no further business here."

His companions reluctantly nodded their agreement. McGonagall turned into a cat before their eyes and slunk off down a near-by alleyway. She feigned confidence, but the two remaining saw through it. She was as perturbed as anyone by the events of the day; more so than most.

Another moment passed before Hagrid slung his left leg over the motorbike once more and turned to Dumbledore. "I'll be bringin' Sirius his bike back, then," his tone was one of utter regret and sadness. "Good nigh', Professor Dumbledore, Sir."

And with that Hagrid turned the keys in the ignition and the motorbike roared to life. Hagrid cast one last glance at Dumbledore and Privet Drive before taking off into the night.

Dumbledore stood, gazing, at the structure before him, before extracting the Put-Outer from his robes and clicking it once, freeing the light from within. He gazed at Number Four for a moment before murmuring to the bundle of blankets before him, "Good luck, Harry." With a last glance, Dumbledore turned on his high-heeled boot and, with a swish of his large cloak, disappeared into the night.

Privet Drive continued on; the orange glow cast off by the street-lamps glowing as brightly as ever before. The wind rustled some stray leaves that were scattered about the street; their sound eerie in the night. Nothing of this night suggested that extraordinary things were possible. Nothing about this night, so serene, suggested that it could bear something so incredibly awe-inspiring. And so the night went on, for hours and hours. Just around day-break young Harry, his arms wrapped around the letter, was awoken by the shriek of his aunt Petunia. He spent the next few weeks being poked and prodded, kicked and pinched, punched and having his hair pulled by his large, boisterous cousin Dudley; indefinite damnation.

**A/N: **_Well, that's chapter two for you. If parts seemed familiar, there's probably a reason for it. This might actually be the worst chapter of the entire story, and if it makes it into the Redux – in any way, shape, or form – I'll be thoroughly surprised. So please excuse just how abysmal it is. This is one of the fewish times, actually, I'll play the I-was-fourteen-when-I-wrote-this, get-off-me card.  
_

_Speaking of said Redux, I've not yet had any takers for the editor job. I'm looking for someone who can do with this story what musicians do with remixes. Chop it into bits and make it different, something appreciable in its own right. Cut scenes, cut chapters, cut lines, cut paragraphs – full editorial control shall be in the hands of whoever takes me up on my offer._

_Let me be clear, though – I'm not looking for someone to rewrite the story. If, in the course of editing, my editor should rephrase something, that's fine; but I'm not looking for someone to write scenes or anything. Any rewriting that absolutely must be done will be done by me, not my editor. For instance, if my editor really likes scene X, but thinks that the way it's all put together is dreadful, that if could be a lot more than the original, then the job of rewriting falls to me, not my poor editor.  
_

_So! Sign up. Give me a shot. We'll have a grand old time._

_Thanks, and please, if you leave a review, bear this A/N in mind.  
_


	3. Chapter 3: Harry and the Dursleys

**A/N:** _It's been pointed out that, because it's been so very long since this story was posted anywhere, very few people know enough about the story to serve in the betaing capacity I'm asking for. That in mind, I'm going to suspend the beta-hunting process until after this version has run its course; by that time, any regular reader will know quite enough to edit well._

_In case you haven't noticed, I post a new chapter every Sunday. So enjoy this one, and check in next Sunday for chapter four: Origin Unknown._

**Chapter Three**

**Harry and the Dursleys**

From the day Harry Potter, however grudgingly, entered into the Dursley household he was treated with disdain. His uncle took great amounts of time every day and night to criticise Harry. Harry would simply stare at him with large, green eyes and make sounds not at all uncommon for babies.

Vernon's scorn for Harry was matched only by his wife's. She seemed to take Harry's existence as something of an insult to her previously perfect life. Where Dudley was pampered, Harry was neglected. Petunia gave him only bits of food and would smack him across the back of the head for any number of reasons.

Dudley found Harry to be quite amusing and went to great lengths to get him in trouble of any sort. Should Dudley knock over his baby food, he would wail that Harry had knocked it over. Typically, Petunia would react by slapping Harry on the back of his small head and yelling at him to treat his cousin better.

Every time Harry would be smacked by his aunt he would cry, resulting in Petunia hitting him again and again until his sobs ceased.

When Harry would sleep, he would do so in a small basket that was kept in the cupboard under the stairs of the Dursley home. During the winters the cupboard was freezing cold, and during the summer it was sweltering hot.

After a few years, Harry still slept in the cupboard, Aunt Petunia still smacked his head for his mistakes, and Dudley still found him an ideal punching bag. To make matters worse, Uncle Vernon had joined in with the family's entertainment.

Should Harry commit any number of errors, he was punched in the ribs by his Uncle and thrown into the cupboard that he resided in despite its miniscule size. On one such occasion Harry asked how his parents had died. The effect of this simple question boggled the mind. His Aunt Petunia yelled at him not to ask questions; his cousin Dudley laughed at him; and his Uncle Vernon took off his belt and fingered it menacingly.

"What did you say, boy?" Vernon's harsh voice growled at him.

"I—I just w-wanted to know how m-my p-parents d-died—" Harry stuttered in a high pitched voice typical of a small boy.

"They died in a car crash. They were no-good freaks and they stuck us with you!" Vernon spat at the terrified boy, all the while fingering his leather belt.

"I've told you a thousand times," Vernon then purpled and bellowed to the boy, "DO NOT ASK QUESTIONS!" With that, he grabbed Harry's arm and drug him to his cupboard. Once they were outside of the cupboard, Vernon raised the belt over his head and beat it back down upon Harry. Again and again the belt whistled through the air as it hit Harry.

Harry screamed in anguish, tears streaming down his young face. "No! Uncle Vernon!" again the belt beat down, this time accompanied by Vernon's large fist. The beating continued on for several more minutes before Vernon ended his assault. His back bled fiercely from the impromptu whip, his face bruised purple and blue, his nose bled freely, and several lacerations covered his already bruised face.

Vernon grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and bodily forced him into the cupboard. Indeed, he forced him in so powerfully that Harry's head collided with the wall of the cupboard. Darkness started to consume Harry's vision and the last thing he heard before succumbing to this darkness was Vernon's oath that Harry would not be let out for a week.

Harry's body fell to the make-shift bed (two sheets folded) in his cupboard as the lock on the door clicked and he knew no more.

Years went by and Harry's treatment by his family had not improved. If anything, the treatment his uncle, aunt, and cousin bestowed upon him became even more harsh and brutal.

During this time, Harry learned many things. He learned that it was never a good idea to be near Dudley. He learned that no matter where he was, if something went wrong in the lives of one of the Dursleys, he was blamed for it and beaten mercilessly. If he breathed too loudly he would be punished. If he expressed any form of imagination, he was beaten without mercy and locked in his cupboard for days. He learned that he should never eat more than a third of what Dudley ate because he would be accused of free-loading off of the Dursleys; this, too, resulted in a beating. He learned that if Vernon were to have a bad day at work, he would be beaten with such savage disregard for human life and well-being it would incline the average person to lose the contents of his stomach.

Typically, Vernon was the one to induce physical abuse, but Dudley doled out his share as well. Petunia often settled for shrieking at him and attacking him with frying pans or, on really bad days, cutting shears.

It did not take Harry long to realise that the quieter he was, the less he was attacked by the other members of the Dursley household. He realised, quite quickly too, that ducking and dodging saved him great pain and anguish.

Throughout the years, the Dursley home had not changed to a great extent. The home remained the same state of immaculateness, due to Petunia (and Harry's) constant cleaning. The kitchen of the Dursley home was the same surgically-clean place it was in the years before. The bedrooms of Number Four had increased in content, but nothing so radical as to constitute significant change. The pictures on the sitting room's mantle provided the only real markers of time's flow.

Where there once had been pictures of curiously shaped blobs and brightly coloured beach balls, there now were pictures of a large, blonde boy opening brightly coloured presents, eating a cake in front of him, riding a bicycle to where his father stood with outstretched arms, standing outside of national landmarks (usually with some sort of snack in his overly-large hands and one or both of his parents at his side). Dudley Dursley really did need to go on a diet—perhaps some new clothes as well. Despite his age, Dudley still looked like a beach ball.

There were no signs of the other denizen of the household whatsoever. Indeed, it would take a thorough searching of the home to even find Harry Potter. Harry was, quite constantly, locked away in a cupboard under the stairs, with nothing but the spiders and darkness for company. He was only ever left out to use the toilet or perform chores for the other members of the Dursley home.

Harry Potter was a small boy. He weighed less than and was shorter than the average boy his size. He had stubborn ever-mussed, jet black hair. He had vibrant green eyes—eyes that shone in the dark like inquiring searchlights. His appearance was altogether unordinary and easy to forget—at least, it would have been, save the most curiously shaped scar that resided upon his forehead. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt and was something that Harry liked very much about his appearance. Consequently, it was also something that mortified the Dursleys.

Harry once asked his Aunt how he had gotten the scar. This had resulted in her, with a tone of deepest great disgust, telling him that he got it in the car crash his parents had died in. Then she stuck his hand in a pot of boiling water. It took two weeks for the burns to disappear entirely; Harry was good at that, healing. Harry was thankful that she had not informed Uncle Vernon; he was sure a severe beating would have resulted.

Harry was now five years old and about to begin at the local grammar school. Harry was very much excited by the prospect. Going to school would enable him to escape the Dursleys—well, most of them anyway; Dudley would still be there. Dudley had grown more and more violent as the years past and would now consistently punch or kick him whenever in his presence.

Harry was awake at dawn (although he did not know it), in anticipation of his first day of school. Harry was looking forward to the day. Nothing, in his mind, could make this experience bad. Not even Dudley's presence in Mrs. Blackburn's class could deter him.

Two hours after Harry awoke his Aunt Petunia rapped he knuckles on the cupboard's door.

"Get up! Up! Now!" she shrieked shrilly through the door.

"I'm up, I'm up!" Harry responded to her.

The lock on his cupboard clicked and the door creaked open slightly. Harry pushed the door open with his small hand and stood outside of the cupboard, located in the hallway of the Dursley home. He walked quickly to the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast, as he did every morning. Harry was too small to see over the stove, so he stood on a barstool that his aunt had found in a rubbish bin. It was easily the shoddiest and filthiest thing in the immaculate kitchen of Petunia Dursley.

Ten minutes later, the other Dursleys trailed in, one-by-one. The Dursleys reached the table and Vernon immediately barked at Harry to hurry up with the food. Harry rushed over, clad in an old. stained, and battered apron, with a tray of eggs, bacon, and toast which he promptly placed in front of his uncle.

"Coffee, boy!"

"Yes, sir."

Harry hurried over with the coffee (three lumps of sugar and more cream than coffee) before bringing Aunt Petunia her herbal tea. Dudley was already wailing for his food, causing Aunt Petunia to scold Harry and console Dudley, so Harry had to quickly bring over his enormous breakfast consisting of four eggs, six strips of bacon, three slices of toast (extra butter), and eight sausages with a rather large side of ketchup for the lot of it (all of this on a rather larger-than-normal plate). Harry then placed Aunt Petunia's plate of toast and eggs in front of her before going to retrieve his breakfast.

Harry was at the stove and about to climb on his stool when his Uncle shouted at him. "Boy! Bring Dudley his chocolate milk!" Harry complied silently, turning from his stool and retrieving Dudley's chocolate milk from the Dursley's refrigerator, all the while berating himself for forgetting Dudley's drink—it never altered, after all. Harry quickly prepared the drink the way that Dudley demanded (with real chocolates inside) before hurrying to the table and a waiting Dudley.

He placed the drink before Dudley, who promptly took a swig. Harry had just turned to the stool to collect his own meal when Dudley began to wail once more. "He got it wrong! He got it wrong!" the fat child wailed to his mother and father.

Vernon was quickly turning purple. "BOY!" he bellowed before rising from his seat and crossing the room to where Harry stood. He grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and bellowed once more, "HOW DARE YOU? YOU KNOW PERFECTLY WELL HOW DUDLEY TAKES HIS DRINK! TRYING TO MAKE HIM SICK ON HIS FIRST DAY, ARE YOU?" all the while spraying Harry with spit and the foul stench of Vernon's coffee, eggs, and bacon mixed with a stench of cigarettes and peppermint.

Vernon reared back his fist and pummeled Harry in the gut, rising Harry off the ground with the blow before he fell to his knees on the floor. Gasping and sputtering for breath, Harry looked up at his Uncle. Still purple with rage, his Uncle kicked him in the gut kissed his wife on the chuck, pinched his laughing son's cheek and departed for work.

Harry wheezed on the floor, but was snapped at by his Aunt almost immediately, "Boy! Clean up these dishes. And there had best not be a _spot_ on them, understand?" poking him painfully in the spot where his uncle had just kicked him. Harry had once, when he was younger, been washing the dishes only to have multi-coloured spots appear on them; he had been blamed, and punished, for it and, ever since, had been admonished not to let it happen again.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry managed to gasp out, without any breath in his lungs.

He quickly gathered the plates from his relatives' seats and began to wash them in the sink. Before long he placed the still spotless plates in the dishwasher and, after drying his hands, walked over, hand on his ribs, to Aunt Petunia hoping to be taken to school.

It was a ten minute walk to the local school and Harry, having just turned five years old, was making the trip himself. Dudley was being taken in Petunia's Mini Cooper (which she adored) and Harry was told to walk. "Good boys get taken to school by their Mummies," she told Dudley, "Freaks without parents have to walk to school by themselves without burdening good people with their presence!" snapping the last part to Harry.

When Harry arrived at Little Whinging Primary, he stood looking up at the school. It was quite small, due to the equally small number of primary school age children of Little Whinging, whose residents were mostly successful business men or retired grandparents.

It took five minutes of Harry wandering around the diminutive school for him to find someone to follow to his class. Unfortunately, the only person he knew happened to be Dudley.

"Hey, freak. Why are your clothes all muddy?" Dudley asked. A manic glint was in his young, porky eyes.

Harry grabbed his shirt with his middle and forefinger and thumb, examining it and finding no mud he asked, "What mud? There's no—"

Just as he was about to finish his sentence, Dudley pushed him. Unbeknownst to Harry when he began to examine his clothing, one of Dudley's bullying friends got on all fours behind his feet. When Dudley pushed him, he fell backwards, tripping over the boy, and landing in a puddle of mud—murky, watery, foul-smelling mud.

Dudley and his friend roared with laughter at the now mud-drenched Harry. Harry, for his part, was shocked. It was not unusual for Dudley to try and make Harry look bad, nor was it unusual to enlist the help of others to pull it off. What made Harry so shocked was that this had happened on his first day of school. He was mortified that now he would have to explain to his teacher why he was covered in mud.

"Hey, Marcus, what should we do with muddy head, here?" Dudley asked the other boy, who was, evidently, named Marcus.

Marcus laughed loudly, "Let him sort it out! Mrs. Blackburn won't be happy with him."

Dudley grinned before nodding his fat, blonde head and walking off with Marcus, both roaring with laughter over their victory. Harry sat still in the mud and watched as they walked away. Sighing, he got to his feet and began to follow them to Mrs. Blackburn's.

Mrs. Blackburn was an elderly lady, sixty-four to be exact, and had a rather strong dislike of both mud and troublemakers. So when Harry Potter, whom she had been warned was uncontrollable—a menace to society as a whole, walked in, caked in mud, she was quite angry indeed.

She marched over to the other side of the room, grabbed Harry by the ear, and began to demand he explain to her why he was covered in mud. Harry's attempts to explain that it was Dudley's doing where wasted on deaf ears. Mrs. Blackburn knew that Harry Potter was a troublemaker, and Dudley Dursley his cousin was a very nice, sensitive boy, who was misunderstood because of his larger than average size.

The rest of the day did not get much better for Harry. He was told to stand in a corner, facing the wall, until he was ready to "tell the truth" about what happened. The fact that he had told the truth seemed irrelevant. Harry stood in that corner, occasionally trying to explain to Mrs. Blackburn futilely that Dudley had pushed him, for the whole day before school got out. When the bell rang, signifying the end of the school day, it was the first time he had been allowed out of the corner all day (he had been kept inside when the other children went out to play, being told it was his punishment for telling lies and that he would probably go play in more mud if they let him out anyway) and he was quite ready to leave.

Mrs. Blackburn had safety-pinned a note to Aunt Petunia on his back, intended to tell her what Harry had done or, at least, what Mrs. Blackburn thought he had done. Mrs. Blackburn had just finished safety-pinning the note on a trembling, crying Harry when the glass window in the room shattered clear out of its pane.

Mrs. Blackburn was startled, as was Harry. Mrs. Blackburn had never seen something like this before. Harry, however, had. It had happened on more than one occasion at the Dursley home, and every time it did happen, Harry was beaten mercilessly. Harry did not know how the glass had exploded, he just knew it had. That did not stop his Aunt from calling his Uncle. When Vernon came home, it was with the intention to beat Harry senseless. And beat Harry senseless, he did.

When Harry arrived back at Number Four, Privet Drive, fifteen minutes after Dudley had, he walked through the door, it was to be encountered with the sight of Dudley wailing loudly and demanding that Harry be punished for trying to get him in trouble. It worked magnificently.

Harry had to immediately duck as Aunt Petunia tried to hit him with her empty tea cup. It shattered against the wall behind Harry, sending Aunt Petunia into a tirade. "Boy! What have we told you about trying to get Dudley in trouble? And now breaking my tea cup! Oh you will pay, boy, you will pay!"

Later that night, when Uncle Vernon had arrived home from Grunnings, Harry did, indeed, pay. Dearly, did he pay. Vernon immediately broke into a violent attack. He grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and punched him in the stomach until Harry began to sputter violently, coughing up blood. He then took off his belt, peeled off Harry's over-sized shirt and whipped his back. With every lash an anguished scream escaped Harry's mouth, which only spurred Vernon. It did not take long for Harry to be little more than a whimpering heap on the ground. Blood flowed freely down his back, and on his face from a wound caused by an errant whip of Vernon's belt; his arms bled violently, from his attempts to block Vernon's belt, and his elbow was bent at an impossible angle from his fall when Vernon had punched him.

Harry was then lifted off the ground and bodily thrown into his cupboard, landing on the blankets that act as his bed after hitting his head on the wall. He lay there as Vernon shouted that he would have no meals for a week (as if it were not bad enough that he had been cheated out of both breakfast and lunch) and would only be allowed out to go to school. He would have to use an old coffee can (put in the cupboard years ago) as a toilet.

This trend continued for years; the only break in the monotony being freak-accidents that always involved Harry in some way. He had turned his headmaster's wig blue (or rather, he had been there at the time and been blamed for it), caused the glass in the science lab to shatter (or so said the Dursleys), been chased by Dudley's gang only to appear on the roof of the school (he was unable to explain to the Dursleys that he _couldn't_ explain how it had happened), his hair re-growing after a dreadful haircut (bald, save his bangs to "hide that terrible scar!"), several pairs of Dudley's casts-off shrinking to puppet sizes (Petunia, thankfully, thought they had been shrunk in the wash, therefore Harry, this time, evaded punishment), and the ever infamous occasion when, after Harry was forced to re-trim them after Dudley had destroyed them with his working toy tank, Harry had been accused of setting the rose bush on fire after it burst into great, roaring flames that seemed to be ever-burning.

Harry, as he grew older, was beaten more fiercely than during his younger years. He assumed that Vernon reckoned he could survive the more brutal beatings now that he was older. Harry did not know how he had managed to survive some of Vernon's onslaughts. He was often left in a condition that made significant movement nearly impossible.

More than once, Harry had drunk a bottle of cleaning fluid in an effort to rejoin his parents. The Dursleys had never once expressed concern, let alone taken him to the hospital. The Dursleys would simply throw him into his cupboard, take away his meals, and tell him he was to stay for a period of time that could last between a day and a month.

And so it continued for many years, until one day….


	4. Chapter 4: Origin Unknown

Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone

**Chapter Four**

**Origin Unknown**

The cupboard under the stairs was hot, even at this early hour, and its dormant resident was sleeping fitfully. He thrashed about, hitting the walls and door of his cupboard in his state of dreaming. Such was the miniscule size of the cupboard that Harry could turn to his side and be hard pressed to avoid the wall of the cupboard.

Today was his cousin Dudley's birthday. He listened carefully, straining his ears, willing them to hear any sound in the orderly Dursley home. From the silence of the house, he gathered it was too early for any of the others to have woken. He lay in his impromptu bed thinking of the Dursleys' treatment of him.

In the nearly ten years he had been with the Dursleys, he had never been given a true gift. Yes, he had been given a coat-hanger, an old sock, and a pair of yellow, rubber cleaning gloves, but they could hardly be considered gifts.

Every year, his cousin Dudley would be showered with presents. He would be in a towering temper, should he have less presents one year than he had the year before. Harry had never had a proper birthday; indeed, the only member of the household beside himself that showed any sign of acknowledgement in regards to the anniversary of his birth was Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon had taken it upon himself to give Harry a 'special' gift every year. Every year, on the 31st of July, Vernon would take his beatings up a notch. Every year the beatings seemed to get worse for Harry, and he was powerless to stop it.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, whenever Harry would be beaten, he would be nearly healed the next day, with nothing but a few bruises to tell the tale of the assault. It seemed that Harry was just good at healing himself; he supposed he had a lot of practise. The downside of being in decent physical condition the next day was that Vernon would take it as some sort of personal insult to his abusing abilities, and often would beat him the next day, more harshly than the day before, in a battle of wills between Harry's body and Vernon's violence.

Today was Dudley's eleventh birthday, and Harry knew what this meant. Today would be a day when Dudley would flaunt just how spoiled he was. Today would be a day when Harry would have to be on his very best behaviour, lest he some how 'mess up' Dudley's birthday and be beaten mercilessly by his Uncle Vernon.

He also knew that today he would be treated as more of a slave than was strictly usual, and healthy, in the Dursley home. He would be expected to do the laundry, cook breakfast and lunch (his aunt forbade him from making "Ickle-Duddykins' special, birthday dinner!"), clean the car, mow the lawn, clean the dishes, empty the waste bins, clean the toilet and sink, and to scrub the kitchen clean.

He was broken out of his rather morose thoughts by a sharp rapping on the door of his cupboard. "Up! Get up! Get up, you rotten boy!" Harry's Aunt Petunia screeched through the cupboard's door.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry responded loudly to her. He heard the tell-tale clicks of his cupboard unlocking (something that had been instituted after a lightening-filled night that found Harry clutching his Aunt's leg in fear. The next day, Vernon had added several locks that were locked at all times when Harry was inside.), before the door slowly opened, creaking all the way.

Harry ambled out of the cupboard and into the Dursleys' kitchen. The foot stool he had once used for making breakfast was gone; now that Harry could see over the stove with relative ease, it was deemed unnecessary. He reached the stove and began to cook breakfast for the Dursley family.

After ten minutes of tranquil silence, the three Dursleys entered the room. Donned upon Dudley's large, blonde head was a red party hat with yellow polka-dots. Harry had to make an active effort not to laugh—an action sure to enrage the Dursleys. They couldn't stand the sight of him cheerful, let alone in a moment of mirth.

Dudley wore a stupid grin on his obese face, obviously very much pleased at the prospect of food. It took Harry a moment to realise why Dudley was not in the sitting room, tearing apart the gift wrapping in an effort to seize the presents that lay inside—the only thing that could stop Dudley's ceaseless desire to become more spoiled was one thing: food.

"Oh, my darling boy, you are so handsome—so grown up!" Mrs. Petunia Dursley gushed over her fat son. Vernon stood behind Dudley, barely in view, and grinned with pride at his 'grown up' son.

Petunia continued to gush while Harry put their food on their plates. The adult Dursleys took their food as they always did, whilst Dudley, as it was his 'special day', was given nine sausages, a dozen rashers of bacon, a foot-high stack of toast, five pancakes, and a half a dozen fried eggs. Dudley immediately began to eat with great gusto.

He had finished all of his food, in record time at that, before beginning to wail loudly, "I want more! I'm still hungry!"

Vernon turned puce. "Boy! What are you trying to do? Starve him?" Mr. Vernon Dursley demanded, bellowing—utterly ignoring the fact that Dudley Dursley had just eaten enough to make a third-world country well-off for a year.

Harry, without uttering a single word (as he was trained to), put several more sausages, eggs, and bacon on Dudley's plate. Dudley dug in at a sickening pace, a good deal of food ended up on the floor from Dudley Dursley's disregard for any semblance of manners or decorum.

Harry reached for a piece of toast, only to have his hand slapped away by his Aunt Petunia. "You don't get any until Dudders has had his fill! Rotten _freaks_ without parents have to wait for _respectable_ boys to finish!" she said. "Especially when that respectable boy happens to be celebrating the joyous occasion that is his birth!" she finished, looking at her whale of a son with enough adoration to make Harry's empty stomach turn.

For his part, Harry simply shrank back into the rickety, old chair he was delegated to. The other Dursleys sat in stylistic, dining chairs, but Harry had to make due with what they gave to him; a chair found on the corner of Privet Drive. Indeed, the only things in the Dursley home that were at all worn belonged to Harry. He would then be blamed for taking bad care of the things his Aunt and Uncle had "so graciously provided for him." The fact that they were in poor condition to begin with was forgotten.

The family, as well as Harry, watched as Dudley gorged himself to an extent that would cause most to pop due solely to the pressure the materials had placed upon their stomachs. For five minutes, they watched as Dudley competed in his own private food eating contest. It was obvious to all present who was winning.

Just before a rather fiercer than usual grumble of Harry's stomach, Dudley finished his allotted food, making it possible for Harry to scrounge a slice of toast before he was ordered to clean the dishes, whilst the Dursleys went into the sitting room to open Dudley's presents.

Harry was cleaning the dishes when an indignant shout of "Thirty-Seven?" was heard throughout the household. Harry snorted. Only Dudley Dursley would complain about having thirty-seven presents on his birthday. Harry listened as Dudley's parents calmed him before completing the job of washing the dishes and sweeping up the rather copious amounts of food on the floor from Dudley's flurry of fattening.

Harry was just about to enter the sitting room to rejoin the Dursleys when the sound of the doorbell ringing put a stopper in his intentions. Oh no, Harry thought, Piers Polkiss. Sure enough, the rat-faced boy emerged from the sitting room with a delighted looking Dudley in tow. Piers quickly rushed behind Harry, grabbed his arms in a hold, and motioned with a nod of his head for Dudley to punch Harry.

And punch Harry, he did. He swung at him three times in rapid succession, hitting him in the gut each time. Harry could do little but grunt and gasp as he was struck. As Dudley reared back his fist for a fourth punch, Harry glared at him, dead in the eye, in an act of defiance to Dudley's bullying ways. Dudley faltered for a moment, before signaling to Piers to let him go. "We're going to the zoo in a minute anyway." Dudley said to Piers, in way of resolving the 'Harry issue'.

Dudley and Piers left the kitchen just as the phone in the sitting room rang out.

"Hello?" Aunt Petunia, evidently the one who answered, said. A pause, "You've what? You're sure?" Another pause, this time accompanied by a sigh of anger and resignation, "Alright, if you're sure. Good-bye, Mrs. Figg." she hung up the receiver, turning to Vernon and conversing with him in a hushed, agitated tone.

The Dursleys toyed with the thought of keeping him locked in the cupboard; but that idea was scrapped ("He'll blow up the place, Vernon!"). Petunia lobbied for having him stay in the car; this idea, too, met heavy resistance, though this time from the male, elder Dursley ("He's not sitting in there! The car's new! He'd blow _it_ up too!")

In the end, it was decided that Harry would accompany the Dursleys and Piers to the zoo, Mrs. Figg, it transpired, had broken her leg. This was something that caused Harry to have a confusing mix of emotions: happiness, bordering on giddiness, that he wouldn't have to go to her house, sadness that she had broken her leg, and guilt for being happy about another's injury.

Mrs. Figg was Harry's minder whenever the Dursleys went somewhere that they didn't want Harry to be along for. She was obsessed with her cats, she had dozens of them, and her house smelt vaguely like cabbage. She was a fruity old lady who seemed to always wear a hair-net, suppressing her gray hair. She and Aunt Petunia had become casual acquaintances over the years, and she always seemed pleased to watch Harry for the Dursleys.

Just before Harry entered the car, Uncle Vernon stopped him and, while jabbing a meaty finger into his chest, said to him in icy tones, "Boy, if anything happens, you will rue the day you were born. You will be in that cupboard 'til Christmas, do you hear me boy? Any funny business and you'll forget your own name, let alone the sight of daylight!"

Harry could do little more than nod. He knew that Uncle Vernon would make good on the threat.

Harry ducked in to the back seat of the car and soon they were speeding off to the zoo, Piers and Dudley cracking their knuckles, glaring, and making snide threats, all as means of intimidation. Their intimidation tactics worked beautifully on poor, defenceless little Harry.

The drive to the zoo could have lasted days or minutes, for all Harry knew. All that Harry could think was iI'm going to the zoo! I'm going to the zoo!/i He was quite gleeful at the prospect, though he was very much aware of the menacing looks his cousin and Piers Polkiss were shooting him. If looks could kill, the Dursleys would be celebrating and looking for a new, equally subservient, little boy to add to their twisted family.

The Dursleys' car pulled into the parking lot of the zoo and Dudley and Piers ambled out—excited to see vicious lions, man crushing pythons, and other such violent beasts. Piers and Dudley led the way toward the ticket stall with the elder Dursleys following and Harry bringing up the rear.

Vernon paid for the tickets, grumbling about over-priced zoo keepers all the way, and gave one to both Piers and Dudley, handed one to his wife, and grudgingly passed one to Harry as he added "Charity causes," to his list of grievances.

Dudley and Piers led the way to the turnstile that permitted entrance to the zoo. Piers slipped through first, seeming positively rat-like in his scurrying. Dudley followed closely. That is, until he got stuck in the turnstile.

Vernon shouted to the near-by ticket stall about his suspicion that only anorexics and "circus folk" would be able to get through, before pushing Dudley's large bottom through the turnstile. Vernon followed through, and was jammed for but a moment before freeing himself from its clutches, the wretched thing!

Petunia went through quickly, in an effort not to arouse the attention of neighbors that weren't there at the moment. Harry followed behind, his head down, but with a spring in his step (_I'm at the zoo! I'm at the zoo!_) he did not even brush the turnstile as he went through and had to use his hands to push the stile forward.

Harry entered the zoo and was astounded by the sights. Brightly coloured signs heralded such things as "The Lion's Den!—Vicious Beasts of the Sahara!—The Reptile House!—The Aviary!" it was all rather much for Harry's mind to take in all at once. He had never before been to a place such as the zoo, but had heard tell of it from overheard conversations between classmates and Dudley's goons.

The Dursleys were half-way through their second exhibit (the Aviary, which Dudley had dubbed "boring") when Dudley loudly announced that they were going to the zoo's restaurant. This was an experience for Harry. He had never been allowed in a restaurant before, and although he didn't expect to get anything, it would be interesting to see what one looked like from a view other than the passing of one in a speeding automobile.

The group made their way into the restaurant and ordered their meals before being led to a booth in the back; Dudley took up most of one side of the booth. When their food did arrive, Harry got what he expected—nothing. That was fine with him; however, he was mesmerised by the animal paintings that seemed to cover the restaurant's walls. There was a painting of a very large lion surrounded by four children, two boys and two girls who seemed to be admiring him with something akin to awe.

Harry couldn't believe his luck! Dudley had complained that his Knickerbocker Glory hadn't had enough chocolate sauce on it (despite the fact that it was overflowing and pooling gently on the small portion of space on the booth that was not covered by Dudley's fat legs) and Harry was allowed to finish the first as Dudley was bought a second. In retrospect, he supposed he shouldn't have been so foolish as to think it would actually last.

After lunch had concluded, they proceeded to the House of Reptiles. The Reptile House was in a warm, humid room that was lit by a red light. Snakes of every size were in the room in clear-glassed cages. Dudley and Piers immediately charged from glass cage to glass cage, searching for the largest, most vicious-looking snake in the entire building. It didn't take them long to find it.

At the end of a row of snakes was the most mammoth serpent Harry had ever seen in all his life. Never, even on television (he rarely was able to watch it, though sometimes he stole five minutes here and there), had he heard of a snake quite so large. Inside the glass tank was an _enormous_ boa constrictor.

Dudley was very excited upon seeing this gargantuan snake. However, the snake was currently fast asleep. The fat boy whined to his father, "Dad! Make it do _something_!"

This caused Vernon to rap his knuckles on the glass of the tank smartly. "Up! C'mon! Perform—or something!" he barked at the slumbering serpent. The snake promptly opened one of its scaly eye lids to see who had awoken him from his slumber. It apparently wasn't very impressed by the sight, for the snake shut its lidded eye and continued on sleeping.

Vernon, once again, rapped on the glass screen. "Come on!" he rapped harder, "Up!", the snake only continued to sleep. Finally, in a huff, the three Dursleys and one Polkiss walked away, looking now for the next best thing. Harry, however, remained.

"Sorry about them," he said to the snake in miserable sort of tone. The fact that the snake was currently in the land of the dreaming seemed insignificant.

"It would not be the first time," a voice hissed in response. Harry looked around, looking for the person to whom the voice belonged. He nearly fell over when he heard it speak again. "It is very difficult to enjoy a nap in this place."

The snake, still having both eyes closed, was the one speaking to him! _But snakes can't talk_! Harry thought. "Are you—Are you speaking… to _me_?" Harry said aloud, in a tentative sort of voice.

"Are there others who speak our tongue?" the snake, with both of its eyes open now, trained on Harry, asked, "Surely they," the snake pointed its tail at the Dursleys and Piers, "do not."

"Er—no, I don't think they do," Harry said to the snake, "The Dursleys don't like anything that is er… _unusual_." It was true, if the Dursleys knew that Harry was speaking to a snake, they would burst with anger. They truly did not approve of imagination or things that seemed unlikely.

The snake had now risen up, its scaly, serpentine head now level with Harry's black-haired cranium. Harry was about to ask whether many people regularly conversed with him, when he was knocked off his feet by a speeding figure.

"Dudley! Mr. Dursley! You won't _believe_ what this big old snake is doing!" Piers Polkiss' voice came from above Harry.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley came bumbling over (sort of running, but for people too fat to actually utilize their legs properly) to the glass tank to see what it was that Piers was so excited about.

When the Dursley men had seen what all the fuss was about, Dudley proceeded to join Piers with his nose pressed up against the glass. Vernon simply watched as his son and his friend looked, awed, at the humongous snake.

Harry looked up at the Dursleys and Piers with a hateful gaze. They so often pushed him around—and he was just beginning to have a pleasant conversation with somebody! Well, something really, but that was hardly the point! He glared at them and wished the boa constrictor would give the three of them a squeeze.

Just as he finished this thought, the glass that separated the snake's domain from the Dursley males and Piers completely _vanished_! Harry watched in astonishment and not a little bit of humour as Piers fell in the swampy den of the snake. Dudley was being held back by the back of his large t-shirt by his father. Dudley, however, had far too much girth to be held back by god, let alone by Vernon Dursley. With a sudden ripping sound, Dudley pulled Uncle Vernon down with his weight and the two joined Piers in the water in front of the main section of the snake's dwelling.

Harry was doing a credible impression of a goldfish, all the while trying to hold back his laughter. He knew that if he let loose so much as one chuckle, he would spend the rest of the summer locked in his cupboard.

While Harry was trying to fight back mirth, Aunt Petunia was trying to stifle a scream of terror. She did not succeed. "Oh my little Dinky-Diddydums! Are you alright? Oh, dear!" Petunia said in both shock and horrification.

The snake, at this point, had escaped its containment and was slithering down the halls of the Snake House and gave one last look toward Harry and said, "Thanks, amigo." before slithering out the door.

Harry responded with a muttered, "No problem," but it was too late. The snake had already left. At this point, the keeper of the House of Reptiles—who normally sat dozing on a wooden bar-stool—rushed over to the Dursleys and giving them tea and blankets before rushing over to the next family and assuring them everything would be alright. After this was done, he rushed out the door to the outside world—a world full of shrieks of terror and one giant, man-crushing snake.

An hour and a half later, Harry, Piers, and the Dursleys got into Uncle Vernon's car and sped off toward home. It didn't take long before both Piers and Dudley were telling tall-tales of snake's attempt to crush them or eat them, and how they had escaped certain death by some ludicrous brave and daring filled act on their own part. Harry knew better than to believe it. He had seen the snake's attempts to eat them (a playful snap at the heels), and they never once were actually touched by the snake, so they couldn't have been nearly crushed by it.

Harry had thought he just might escape punishment—indeed he almost had when the worst possible thing came out of Piers' mouth, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you Harry?"

The effect of this simple statement was terrible. Uncle Vernon began to sputter, Aunt Petunia gave a small shriek, and Dudley looked faint. Vernon was able to restrain himself until Piers had been dropped off at his house. "When we get home, boy…."

The moment Harry entered the entryway to the Dursley home, Vernon let loose. "YOU! YOU DID THIS BOY, I KNOW YOU DID THIS! YOU GET IN THAT CUPBOARD AND YOU DON'T COME OUT UNTIL I TELL YOU TO! YOU HEAR ME BOY?" the last statement was completely unnecessary. There were people in, perhaps, the Middle East that had missed it. Other than that, everyone was clued in.

When Harry didn't respond either way and simply began to walk toward his cupboard, Vernon lost it once more. "DON'T YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON ME, BOY! YOU WILL ANSWER ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, BOY?" Harry turned around and nodded.

That did it for Uncle Vernon. He strode over to Harry, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and reared back his right fist. He swung with shocking force, and punched Harry in the side of the face.

Harry immediately began to sputter and cough. With each clearing of his lungs, blood poured out of his mouth. Harry had fallen to the ground with the punch, and was then stomped on by Vernon's shoed foot. Harry moaned in pain as he felt a crack in his ribs. Vernon stomped again, and this time the crack was accompanied by immediately shortness of breath. It didn't take long for Harry to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. Vernon had punctured a lung.

Harry awoke, several days later, to a painful feeling in his chest. He as though there were a rather large elephant sitting upon his chest. It was extremely difficult to breathe, and required quite a bit of effort. He felt like he was in a permanent state of breath holding. He was very weak, physically, and had trouble lifting his head when he tried. He had lifted his head but two inches before it fell back on his cupboard's floor.

He tried to look at his surroundings, but found his eyes were both swollen shut. He moved his fingertips and an intense pain shot up his elbow, as if a nail were pounded into him. He couldn't feel his toes.

He gave up trying to raise his head as a lost cause and made an admirable attempt to ignore his extreme shortness of breath and intense desire to use the loo. Every breath he took was done so with great enough effort that, after five minutes, he had passed out again, this time from exhaustion.

He was unconscious for three more days. During this time, his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Cousin Dudley all did nothing. All of the Dursleys, in fact, seemed much more relaxed than usual. Dudley spent most of his time with his new video games, wiling away the hours. Petunia spent most of her time lounging around the house, cleaning her already immaculate home, or reverting to a tried and true pastime: spying on the neighbors.

Mrs. Number Five and her daughter had gotten into an argument over what time the younger of the two females returned home at night and Mrs. Number Five's daughter's shriek of "I hate you!" could be heard from every home on Privet Drive and Wisteria Walk. Petunia Dursley had spent the next couple of days happily recounting the tale to anyone who was not present at the time of the outburst.

Vernon Dursley had spent his days at Grunnings and his evenings relaxing calmly at home. He had fired nine of his more judgment-lacking employees in the past week, so the week had been a particularly good one. No blasted freak of a nephew, nine fewer people to be bothered with, and a quietness and tranquility in both home and office that could be attributed to both.

Three days after Harry's second passing out, he awoke once more. The difficulty to breathe had lessened some, but he still had to make an effort of it. He found that the intense desire to relieve himself of bodily fluids had passed and that something smelt awful in the small space he inhabited.

The swelling around one of his eyes had begun to lessen, and his neck was more movable than before. There was very little light in cupboard, so Harry supposed it was late in the evening or at night. Well, that or his Aunt Petunia had covered the crack under the door of the cupboard with a towel again. She had seen on a television programme that it was unhealthy for one to not be able to distinguish between the daytime and nighttime. Naturally, the Dursleys tried it—to test its effectiveness. It didn't bother Harry much, but he didn't let the Dursleys know that.

Harry lifted his head, staring directly ahead of him with unseeing eyes. His neck protested the movement and cracked with each bit of forward motion. Harry lifted his right arm, then his left. He found both would raise, but when he dropped both of them, although gently, the right arm began to prickle painfully. He wiggled his toes, to check that they were still movable, and was relieved to find that they were. Whatever numbness he had experienced before had vanished and he was now able to feel every sharp pain in his feet, toes, and knee caps (which Harry suspected were broken by one of Vernon's stomps, presumably after Harry had blacked out).

Harry lay there, listening for any sound of activity. Harry was not foolish enough to cry out for help from the Dursleys, but he wanted to be sure that they were there and hadn't locked him in the boot of Vernon's car for a week as they had done more than once when Harry was younger. With no vision to check otherwise, he had no idea if he was really in his cupboard. Then he wiggled his fingers ever so slightly and felt the cloth of his blanket/mattress.

Harry, terribly malnourished, smelling of smells unknown, and still having a hard time of breathing, fell once more into unconsciousness.

While Harry had been unconscious in his cupboard, the Dursleys received some shocking mail. The first time the letter had come through the regular post. The second time, after the first letter went unanswered, an owl arrived with four letters. The third time, two owls had arrived with eight letters each. All were addressed to:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Hushed conversations had taken place between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia about what to do. It was decided they would move Harry out of his cupboard—the letter senders knew where he s_lept_ after all, they were probably spying on the Dursleys! The Dursleys decided that Harry would be moved as soon as he pounded on the door of the cupboard, his way of letting him know that he would be obedient and was prepared to act normally.

It had been several days since Harry had lost consciousness the second time, and he had been let out of his dark confinement. The Dursleys had not been happy to see him. His Aunt Petunia had shrieked at him that he smelt awful and to take a shower. Then his beloved Aunt caught a whiff of his cupboard. That had resulted in three hours of cleaning.

When Uncle Vernon arrived home from Grunnings that evening, he was not at all pleased to see his nephew out of the cupboard under the stairs. He had yelled at him about his being a freak and about his abnormality.

After Uncle Vernon completed his rather loud tirade against abnormalities, Harry was informed that he was to be moved into Dudley's second bedroom (despite Dudley's increasingly audible and violently physical complaints). Harry couldn't care much less. He doubted the Dursleys would like him more in the second bedroom than in his cupboard. Dudley certainly wouldn't.

The day after Harry had been moved into Dudley's toy bedroom, forty-eight letters, all addressed to Harry (this time with "The-Smallest-Bedroom" listed as his place of sleeping). Neither Harry nor Dudley had yet managed to steal one from Mrs. Dursley's beady eyes.

Sunday arrived, and Vernon was in quite a cheerful mood.

"Sunday—great day, Sunday," Vernon said cheerfully. "Can you tell me why, Dudley?" asked Uncle Vernon

Dudley simply looked dumb with his mouth open, egg yolk dribbling into his lap. It was Harry who answered him.

"No post on Sunday." Harry said in a quite miserable, monotone voice. He knew he had no chance of nicking one of the letters if they weren't to arrive.

Just then, a loud noise made the whole family stop. There was a deep rumbling emitting from the sitting room. All the Dursleys and Harry immediately jumped up and scrambled to the source of the noise.

Thousands upon thousands of letters were pouring out of the brick chimney. The letters were bouncing off the walls and ceiling, shooting off of everything (including, much to Aunt Petunia's mortification, the lamps), nothing being spared by the tyrannous letters.

"THAT'S IT! WE ARE LEAVING! WE ARE GOING AWAY FROM HERE—TO SOMEPLACE THAT THEY CANNOT FIND US!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "GET ONLY WHAT YOU NEED—MEET IN CAR-- FIVE MINUTES!"

Everyone was too shocked by his sudden murderous outburst to argue too much. Harry had only to use the loo before scrambling into Uncle Vernon's car. Petunia had grabbed a small handbag and quickly joined Harry in the car. They were delayed ten minutes by Dudley attempting to cram his television, computer, and video-cassette recorder all in an old sports bag. Uncle Vernon had walloped him on the head, which Dudley was still wailing about.

The car sped off on the motorway and for a long while no one spoke. They would drive in one direction for an hour or so, before Vernon got out of the car, looked out onto the horizon, shook his head and muttered to himself before driving off in a direction completely contrary to the one before it. This routine continued on for several hours before the silence was finally broken.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley Dursley asked his mother, frightened. Petunia could do little more than nod her agreement, watching in awe, confusion, and horror as the routine repeated itself again and again until night fell upon them.

**A/N:** God, _what an awful chapter. I'm sorry you had to sit through this. The story does get _considerably_ better though; you've got my word. So suffer this._

_And if you're looking for something else to pass away your days, I recommend Deadwoodpecker's _Here Comes the Sun._ It's great._

_Anyway, please review._


	5. Chapter 5: The Giant Man

Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone

**Chapter Five**

**The Giant Man**

Uncle Vernon drove his car well into the night, before finally rolling into a rickety no-tell motel some distance away from Little Whinging. Harry was very tired. He had only recently recovered from his uncle's assault, and the expended energy used to function properly was taking its toll on Harry's body. Unfortunately for Harry, however, he could not sleep. Mentally, he was going a mile a minute, wide awake, despite his body's feeble protests. His mind kept returning to the letters and who might be sending them.

He watched as they pulled up into the motel's parking lot, stopping just in front of an old, wooden sign that, Harry supposed, signified the name of the motel: The Railview Hotel. It hardly seemed to be a motel. Harry thought that the only people that would stay in such a place were criminals or people in hiding from the mafia. Harry supposed they were in more the second category than the first.

Aunt Petunia, who had been sleeping with her head cradled against her seat belt, awoke when Uncle Vernon's door opened and then slammed shut. Aunt Petunia jumped at the noise and looked around sleepily, her blonde hair askew, searching for the source of the noise. When she saw her husband stalking up a badly paved, and partly gravel, pathway, she sat straight upright.

Petunia, still bolt upright, turned in her seat, and stage whispered at Dudley, "Dudders, dear, it is time to wake up now."

Dudley muttered something in his sleep that Harry thought sounded suspiciously like "Chocolate cake," but he had no way to prove it and said nothing, suppressing both a snort and a snicker with some difficulty. They would only get him into trouble.

Petunia turned more fully in her sleep and prodded Dudley gently in the ribs, "Diddydums, dear," she said, more loudly than before, her stage whisper gaining audibility, becoming a softly spoken sentence.

Dudley, upon being poked, sat upright, stock still and questioned thickly to the air in general, "Cake?" whilst drool flowed from his agape mouth. Harry rolled his eyes.

"No Dudders, no cake right now. I think we're staying here for the night," Petunia pointed her bony finger at the motel's sign, rather like it was someone with a deformity and she was trying to be courteous and not stare, "Although I should certainly hope not!" she finished with a holier-than-thou sniff in the direction of the ramshackle old building.

Just then, Uncle Vernon came striding back toward the car with a slightly manic grin plastering his heavy features. He opened the door to his automobile and announced to those present in a jovial voice, "Found us a place for the night! Come on, out with you then!"

The two Dursleys and Harry groggily made their way up the gravelly, partially-paved path, following in Uncle Vernon's wake. They stopped at the office of the motel, and then climbed the steps next to the door. They got to the top and walked along the stone walkway for a few paces before stopping at a gloomy looking door that bore chipped paint and an upside-down number seventeen. to where, exactly, room numbers one through sixteen were, Harry had no idea. Uncle Vernon inserted a key into the door handle, turned his pudgy wrist, and pushed open the door.

The inside was quite as dank as the outside. The walls had small holes in them, Harry thought they may have been made by bullets, and the carpeting was well torn up. There was a single couch in the small room, and it looked as though a rabid dog had been using it as a chew toy. Beyond the couch was a small window and window-seat.

Dudley immediately made a move for the sofa, and Harry could do little more than watch as he lay upon its thread-bare offerings and fell asleep in a matter of moments. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia disappeared into an adjoining room and Aunt Petunia returned a moment later with several blankets, which she placed on Dudley before throwing one the most moth-eaten one, contemptuously, at Harry.

The blanket landed at Harry's feet and he simply stared at it. After a moment's thought, he picked it up and shot a glance at the window-seat. His mind still would not rest, it was as though he was on the verge of discovery, but could not quite make the jump. He shrugged mentally, before walking over to the window-seat, staring at the motorway below.

He could not remember much about his parents, but if he strained his mind during his long hours in the cupboard, he sometimes received flashes of green light in his head, he figured, after much pondering, that it was something to do with the crash his parents had died in. A traffic light, perhaps?

He sat there for the whole night, pondering, wondering. Who was so determined to send him letters? Why did Uncle Vernon react so irrationally to them? What was it about his parent's deaths that his Aunt and Uncle weren't telling him? For he instinctively knew that he was being lied to. He always had.

The next morning, Harry and the Dursleys were eating cold, tinned tomatoes on toast in what passed as the motel's dining area when the owner of the motel entered. She was a dark-skinned woman, looking about Aunt Petunia's age, with an accent that Harry could not place.

"Eez one o' yoos Meestuh H. Pottuh?" the odd accented woman asked the assembled group of two piggish males, one giraffe-like woman, and one scruffy-haired lad with the greenest eyes she ever had seen. She was holding an envelope in her hand. "I've on'y got me abou' a 'undred or so o' em, 'sall."

Harry made a motion as if to grab the letter. He stood up, right arm outstretched, and had taken a large step when Uncle Vernon growled at him and knocked his arm down. "I'll take them," he said quickly to the dark woman with the curious accent.

The woman gazed oddly between Harry and Vernon for a moment before nodding and departing from the room, Uncle Vernon in tow.

"Vernon, dear, wouldn't it be for the best if we just turned around and went home?" Aunt Petunia asked her husband timidly, some hours later. Uncle Vernon, it seemed, had not heard her, for he continued on with his frenzied driving as he had before she spoke. Aunt Petunia shrunk back in her seat with an expression of sorrow on her face, no doubt wondering what the neighbors will think of her rose garden without Harry to tend to it.

They drove on and on for several more hours and despite all the family's attempts (Harry kept his mouth firmly shut, he didn't want a repeat performance of the zoo incident), Uncle Vernon drove on and on, they never even stopped for food. Not once. Dudley was doing a credible imitation of a hosepipe.

After driving for several more hours, the car rolled to a stop once more, this time on the coast. Harry had never seen the sea before, so this was quite an experience for him. It was very cloudy and foggy due to their proximity to the sea, and Harry could not see a meter beyond where they sat in any direction. It did not help that the darkness of night was complete, no streetlamps to obscure the perfect dark.

Vernon opened his door, allowing the damp, cold air to flow into the previously warm car, and walked along a dirt path. Harry had no idea where he was going, the fog prevented him from seeing.

Harry sat there in the cacophony of sound in the car. He was the only sentient passenger at the moment, but the slumbering occupants still managed to make enough noise to awaken the blissfully dead.

Aunt Petunia's head was hung forward, and she was snoring ever so slightly. Harry thought it hilarious that his Aunt snored, she spent so much of her time trying to keep everything in her home proper and ordinary, yet here she was, snoring in the front passenger side of Uncle Vernon's car, way out in the middle of nowhere.

Dudley was also asleep. Indeed, he was also snoring. The difference between a 'Dudley Snore' and an 'Aunt Petunia Snore', however, was monumental. Where Aunt Petunia snored lightly, sounding almost like a cat's purr, Dudley sounded as though he were an elephant snorting. The car shook slightly with each of Dudley's formidable snores.

A few minutes passed and Uncle Vernon's hulking form returned to view. He was carrying with him a long package that had a red ribbon wrapped around it. Harry doubt it was a birthday present. He opened the door, and shook his wife. "Come on, Petunia, dear. Time to be going," Petunia stirred, opened a bleary eye, and promptly shook herself awake.

"Up and at 'em, Dudders!" Uncle Vernon said, while shaking Dudley, promptly ending the snores. Dudley shouted something unintelligible, but was awake enough to follow Uncle Vernon down the path he took.

Harry, who had not been told to do anything, opened the door to the car and scrambled out. He had not noticed that it had started to rain, but once he was out of the car and into the freezing rain, he knew all too well. He followed the two large men and one bony woman as they walked toward a dock where a rusted, old boat floated in the water. A man with a scraggly beard stood before them on the dock. His hair was grey and he had almost no teeth. Those teeth he did have were rotted and looked like something Harry had seen on television once. He was wearing a yellow poncho and black, rubber boots that looked nearly as old as he was.

"This kind gentleman," Vernon shouted over the loud rain and the crash of waves, whilst pointing to the toothless man, "Has agreed to take us to our home for the time being," Vernon pointed out to see where a large rock stood in the distance, being beaten and battered by the waves.

Petunia looked horrified, "Er—Vernon, dear, must we stay at a place quite so—er…" she seemed to be searching for the proper word. She found it, "Well, wet?" she too had to shout over the rain, her voice going higher as her volume increased.

"But don't you see, dear? It's perfect! No postman would ever cross the sea to get our mail to us! And I defy any ibird/i that claims to be capable of it, also!" Vernon shouted over the rumble the pouring rain, a manic gleam in his eye. A flash of lightning struck, illuminating Uncle Vernon's features for a moment. The gleam in his eye was more pronounced than ever, and Harry thought he saw something stir behind his eyes, but when he stared for a moment longer and saw nothing but that same maniacal glint he always wore when he got a 'good idea', Harry wrote it off as a trick of the light.

So hard was Harry staring at Uncle Vernon's eyes that he didn't notice anything at all peculiar when he heard Uncle Vernon say, "We _won't_ have one in the house! No freaky schools for him! He'll be going to Stonewall and he'll…" here the voice trailed off.

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask his Uncle what he was talking about when Vernon's gaze shifted to the boat. The toothless old man now sat in it, gazing at the Dursleys and Harry expectantly. Vernon immediately spoke up; "Come on now, all in the boat!" an evil sort of glee tainted his every shouted syllable.

They all crammed themselves into the small boat. The old man, who sat at the rear of the old boat, grabbed an oar with each hand and began to row. It was slow going. The rock seemed to be about half a kilometer out to sea, and the stormy seas were not helping to get them there any faster.

By the time they finally made it to the rock, Harry was in desperate need of thawing. Dudley, Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon had been able to huddle together, whilst hiding under a blanket. Harry had no such luck. He had been forced to fend for himself against the freezing wind, splattering rain, and the crashing waves that beat down upon Harry's exhausted body.

And so it was a shaky Harry, from both exhaustion and the incredibly cold temperature, that followed Uncle Vernon's hulking form up a muddy path to the top of the rock. By the time they reached the top of the rock, Harry was sure he was not far from dropping to the ground or turning into a block of Harry-shaped ice.

Atop the rock was what Harry was sure had to be the single most miserable shack in all of existence. It was wooden, but looked as if it were constructed from burnt bits of tree bark. It was very small, looking as if it had one small room, two at the most. Harry was quite certain that a stiff breeze could blow it over. The Big Bad Wolf would have it easy here.

Harry and the Dursleys (the old man was on his way back to the mainland, and said he would return tomorrow) entered the dwelling only to find the inside even more depressing than the out. The room had no carpet; only a sandy sort of dirt lay on the floor. A battered, defeated looking couch stood, desolately, against one of the cardboard-thin walls. The ceiling sagged, and with every beat of rain on the roof, it sagged just a bit more. The worst thing about the shack though was that it was definitely colder on the inside than out. The fact that there were no blankets to be seen had immediately furthered his depression. Perhaps if the roof collapsed, he could warm himself by snuggling up against it?

Uncle Vernon, still carrying that long, thin package, entered a room off to the side through a sodden doorframe, with Aunt Petunia on his heels. Harry had made a quick move toward the couch, but was immediately stopped by Dudley reaching out with his long, ham-like arms and grabbing Harry round the middle. "Mine!" he growled in Harry's ear.

Harry let his body go slack. He knew there was no chance that he would get the couch, but he had to try. Dudley released Harry and his gaze shifted toward his bed for the time being. The dirt and sand mixture did not look comfortable at all.

A moment later, Aunt Petunia emerged from, what Harry assumed was, her and Vernon's bedroom. She was carrying a load of blankets that she had found in the hut. All were threadbare and appeared to have been eaten by moths for years, and their conditions were nothing to brag about. However, as was to be expected, Harry's blanket was about half as thick as Dudley's thinnest (he had gotten four blankets), and looked as though it had been set on fire in the past—several times.

Harry considered, briefly, protesting. He realised, quite quickly, though that this would only give his Aunt a reason to get his Uncle involved. And Harry seriously doubted he could heal as well here, in this cold environment, as he could in his stifling hot cupboard.

A while later, Harry was the only one awake. He knew he ought to get some sleep, but this was nearly impossible; what with Dudley's monstrous snores, the crashing of the waves, the beating of the rain, and the impossible cold that filled the entire room and presumably the entire hut.

Harry did not like the predicament he found himself in. He was on the dirt and sand covered floor of a hut way out to sea, trying to find the softest bit of ground to lie on, all the while trying to keep his threadbare blanket over himself so that he might warm himself up, even if only a little.

Harry looked at the Rolex on Dudley's fat wrist. He did not really understand why Dudley had a watch—let alone one so expensive. He could not read the analogue watch, so there was little point in his having it. He just asked whoever was around what the time was, instead of looking at his obscenely large wrist and finding out for himself.

The watch on his wrist indicated the time to be 11:59, obviously in the PM. If this were true, and such an expensive watch had _better_ be right, he was only one minute away from turning eleven. He dreaded the coming day. Every year on his birthday, Uncle Vernon gave him a 'special' present. Said present being a beating more savage than he had received in the year before.

Harry sat and watched as the watch face counted down the seconds.

"Happy birthday to me," Harry sang under his breath in a dead sort of voice.

Harry heard a large bang outside and supposed the thunder had started in earnest.

"Happy birthday to me."

Another loud bang, this time the ceiling seemed to cave more_. Perhaps if it falls on me, I'll be a bit warmer_, Harry thought dully.

"Happy birthday, dear Harry."

Ten seconds…

Nine…

Eight…

Seven…

Six…

Five…

_Maybe he won't do it this year,_ Harry thought without any real conviction. He simply knew better than to believe that his uncle was capable of leniency.

Four…

Three…

Two…

"Happy birthday to me."

One…

BOOM! BOOM! BANG!

Suddenly the door to the hut, already sopping wet and weak, was blasted off its hinges. Harry stood straight up in shock as Dudley stirred and Harry heard the sound of the springs of a bed being relieved of a fat man's weight. Harry looked at where the door once stood, the doorway now blocked by a very large mass of shadow.

Lightning struck in the distance, briefly flashing the sky with light, and Harry saw something that terrified him. A man—a very large man—stood silhouetted in the doorway. He looked easily twice Uncle Vernon's height, and looked to be just as far along round the middle. This was, quite obviously, not a man to cross.

He stooped his head and entered the shack, looked around for a moment, then shook his long, shaggy beard of dark hair like a dog would when wet. He looked around the room once more before his eyes settled on Harry. He moved toward him with a very long step and looked just about to speak when Uncle Vernon, his face puce, began to bellow at him with a long, rifle in his hands. iWell, that explains the package, anyway/i Harry thought to himself.

"I DEMAND THAT YOU LEAVE, SIR!" the bellowing Vernon Dursley demanded of this giant of a man. He had his gun pointed straight at the giant's head and was visibly trembling. "NOW!" he shouted as loud as he was able. He had advanced toward the giant with every word and was now face-to-face with the giant-like man; the gun was now pointed at the giant's chest.

The giant gave him a look of deepest disgust and greatest enmity before seizing the rifle from Uncle Vernon's hands and, with minimal visible effort, tied it into a bow before handing it back to Harry's Uncle, whose face was pale with shock and horror.

The giant turned to Harry, studiously ignoring Uncle Vernon, and said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world (and indeed it was), "Ah! Harry! There yeh are!"

Harry was quite taken aback, and not a little bit frightened, to discover the giant knew who he was. Harry sputtered a response to the giant, "Y-Yes sir, I-I'm Ha-Harry."

"But o' course yeh are! I've not seen yeh since you was a baby, Harry. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, yeh do, Harry, but blimey! Yeh sure gotten yer mum's eyes on yeh! I'm Hagrid, by the way," the giant said to a slightly more relaxed, and now raptly attentive, Harry. This man knew his parents; this man could tell Harry things he desperately wanted to know!

"Y-You knew my m-mum and d-dad?" Harry asked tentatively, despite the enthusiasm in his mind, he could not form a sentence that was not littered with stuttered words in the presence of this man.

"'Course I did! They was the greatest people I ever knew!" the giant said to Harry. "But that ain't why I'm here," he fished in an over-large overcoat for a moment before pulling out a large, cream coloured letter and handing it to Harry, "_This_ is why I'm here, Harry."

His hands shaking, Harry opened the letter. He did not know whether to expect it to explode or not, but he was wary of this man. Although he had known his parents, he was also rather frightening!

Harry pulled out a thick, heavy piece of parchment from inside the envelope and read,

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards_)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Harry was stunned. Did this make him a wizard? How could he be? He was just Harry! Slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid of the answer, he asked Hagrid. "Hagrid… Does this mean… I mean—Am I wizard?"

Hagrid, from what Harry could see in the darkness of the shack, looked confused, "'Course yeh are, Harry! Surely yeh've…" he broke off, "Unless… No! They wouldn't… would they?" he seemed to be more talking to himself now than anyone else.

Suddenly, in rage, he turned toward the crouched Uncle Vernon. "DURSLEY!" Hagrid boomed. The adult Dursleys, who had been huddled in a corner with Dudley, both jumped as Dudley squealed like a pig. Uncle Vernon jumped up to his feet and looked at the giant with an air of terrified defiance.

"How much does he know?" Hagrid asked in a deadly whisper.

Vernon seemed to have regained some of his courage when the volume of Hagrid's voice dropped—he obviously missed the steel in his words. "HE KNOWS NOTHING AND IT WILL STAY THAT WAY! I WON'T HAVE ONE UNDER MY ROOF!" at this, Uncle Vernon stomped his foot on the earth upon which he stood.

"Yeh mean ter tell me that he knows nothin'? Nothin' 'bout who he is? Who his parents was?" Hagrid, all this time, had been speaking in a voice just above, suddenly exploded. "YEH MEAN TER TELL ME THAT HARRY POTTER DUDN'T KNOW WHO HE IS?" Hagrid demanded in a tone that suggested (quite accurately, Harry thought) that his voice alone could bring down the entire structure.

Uncle Vernon made a squeak and cringed, as if expecting the giant to bring his hand down upon him. Instead of striking Vernon Dursley, Hagrid turned to Harry and said to him, with no small amount of exasperation, "Harry, yer a wizard. And a thumpin' good one, I reckon!"

Harry stood in shock. He had thought, hoped, that he was when he first read the letter. But it wasn't quite the same as hearing someone—a giant someone, especially—tell him that he was. Harry was both elated and dread-filled. Him! A wizard! But… he couldn't be a wizard. He wasn't special or anything. If he were a wizard, why hadn't the Dursleys been turned into dung beetles the moment they tried to do anything to him?

"Hagrid… I don't think I'm a wizard. I—I can't do anything," Harry stopped for a moment, looking for the right word—he never quite found it, "special," he finished lamely.

Hagrid, far from agreeing with Harry, simply chuckled. "Harry Potter, not a wizard? Seein' as yer just 'bout the most famous wizard in the world…" he trailed off when he saw the shocked look on Harry's face. "They didn't even tell you that much? Don't you know what yer famous fer? What yer iparents/i are famous fer?" he semi-asked Harry, as though already knowing the answer. Harry did all he could think to. He shook his head.

Hagrid's head immediately shot up, and he glared at the Dursleys with such malice in his black, beady eyes that Harry marveled that the three had yet to burst into flame. If looks could kill, Harry would be celebrating.

If the look on Hagrid's face was any indication, he was about to explode. When all he did was whisper, very softly, to the Dursleys, Harry knew it was in a tenor that was infinitely more hateful than had he roared at them like a wild animal. "You never even told the boy 'bout his parents?"

The adult Dursleys flinched visibly at the giant's words. Before, Uncle Vernon could ignore the malice in the man's whispers, but now—now when every syllable was coated in such loathing it hurt—he could not. They quailed in fear when the giant continued, "Yeh never told him what was in the letter that Dumbledore left him? You kept it from him all these years?" The giant spoke with such ice, that Harry would not have been surprised if the sea outside had frozen.

"How could yeh never even tell the boy about his parents?" The giant asked softly in a voice laced with both extreme sorrow and unspeakable rage. "HOW COULD YOU KEEP ITHAT/i FROM HIM, DURSLEY?" Hagrid demanded in a volume that shook the whole island. Indeed, Harry heard a crash that could have been part of the rock falling into the sea when Hagrid began to speak.

Uncle Vernon, in panic, screeched at Hagrid with all of the force he could muster. "HE WILL NOT BE GOING TO SOME FREAKY SCHOOL! I WON'T LET HIM!" Vernon Dursley shrieked at Hagrid, his vocal chords audibly straining.

Hagrid chuckled darkly, "And I s'pose a great Muggle like yerself's gonna stop him? I'd like ter see yeh try," Hagrid challenged the beefy man.

"A Muggle?" Harry asked with great interest.

"Non-magic folk. Like them," he ended with pointing a large finger toward the three Dursleys, "and it's just yer luck yeh grew up with the worst sort of 'em anywhere."

Vernon Dursley, once more finding his voice, bellowed at Hagrid again, "We swore we wouldn't have one in our home! We swore we'd stomp it out of him! He won't be going, and that—is—FINAL!" his bellowing reaching new heights as he ended his sentence.

"Yeh can't stop him, Dursley. He'll go if he wants ter, and he'll be taught by the greatest headmaster Hogwarts 's ever had, "here Hagrid's voice gained a sound of respect and admiration, "Albus Dumble—"

"I WILL NOT PAY FOR SOME CRACK POT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS! I—"

"DON'T YOU—IEVER/I—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN FRONT—OF—ME!" Hagrid bellowed louder than ever before. It was quite obvious that it was not a very good idea to insult Albus Dumbledore in front of Hagrid.

"D'yeh at least know how yer parents died?" Hagrid asked after turning to Harry, obviously trying to regain some semblance of calm.

"They died in a car crash," Harry said matter-of-factly.

Hagrid exploded. "CAR CRASH! A CAR CRASH KILL LILY AN' JAMES POTTER! DURSLEY YOU GOT SOME EXPLAININ' TER DO!"

Vernon Dursley sputtered something that could have been "Wimblebum."

"HIS PARENTS DIED AS HEROES! HE'S A HERO 'CAUSE HE LIVED! AND YEH TELL HIM THEY DIED IN A ICAR CRASH/I! YEH SHOULD BE 'SHAMED OF YERSELVES! A BLOODY CAR CRASH!" Hagrid roared with intense ferocity. Hagrid was compulsively clenching and unclenching his fists before Harry spoke in a very hurt, confused, and mystified voice.

"H-Heroes? M-My parents… They died as heroes?" Harry asked as tears fell, unabashedly, from his eyes. Hagrid nodded, his own eyes welling up. Then Harry continued in the saddest voice Hagrid had ever heard in all his life. "They told me my dad was drunk and crashed into a police car, and killed themselves and the policeman. That my parents were drug addicts and my mum a prostitute…."

Hagrid looked shocked and repulsed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a pink umbrella and with the saddest, and angriest, expression on his face that Harry had ever seen, mumbled a few words and a purple light shot out of his umbrella. There was a brief flash of light…. A moment of silence…. And then Vernon Dursley started to bray like a donkey.

"C'mon Harry, we're leavin'."

He led a weeping Harry Potter out the door, tears running down both of their faces.

**A/N:** _Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next Sunday._


	6. Chapter 6: Of Explanations Moste Evile

Fate's Debt and the Philosopher's Stone

**Chapter Six**

**Of Explanations Moste Evile**

Harry lay in a bed at the Leaky Cauldron some hours later. He and Hagrid had gotten a room for the night, and Hagrid's snores, Harry thought, could raise the dead. Harry and Hagrid were going to go shopping today, but for now Harry was wide-awake listening to the equivalent of an elephant's snores. And so Harry thought back to his encounter with the Dursleys that day.

He knew they hated him. He had had no delusions about that for many years. But, he thought, it was a new low for even them to keep something so incredibly huge from him for so many years. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both looked positively terrified when Hagrid had given Harry his letter.

Harry wondered if they were frightened of him, or what he could one day be capable of. Hagrid had shown Harry some magic when they were on a boat that Hagrid had used to get to the rock. Hagrid had simply tapped the oars of the boat and off they went. Hagrid had asked Harry not to mention it "ter anyone at Hogwarts" as he wasn't "s'posed ter do magic, strictly speakin'".

Harry didn't mind; he thought it had been incredible. Hagrid had seemed angry during the entire trip to the Leaky Cauldron. They had taken a train ("'Mazing, the way Muggles get 'round without magic…") to London and then the Underground ("Takes so bloody long…") until they were within walking distance of the grubby pub they now slept in.

It had been empty at the time, but Hagrid had assured him that it was actually quite popular amongst witches and wizards during the daylight hours. They had gone straight up to a room (number four, ironically enough) and lay in beds on opposite sides of the room. Harry had asked Hagrid if it was normal for wizards and witches to go into pubs and sleep there without permission, but Hagrid assured Harry that he had told Tom, the barkeep, that he would be by and to keep a room for him.

So now, here Harry lay, pondering abusive relatives, Hagrid, and all things magical. It was just so extraordinary, _too_ extraordinary, for something such as magic to actually exist. Once, when Harry was eight, he had gotten a fairy-tale book out of the small library at his school. He wondered if it would be similar to the book; dragons, trolls, sphinxes, and phoenixes all about the world.

_Hopefully,_ Harry mused, _Uncle Vernon won't get angry with me for this, like he did last time._ Vernon Dursley had been in a towering rage when he saw the book that Harry had. Uncle Vernon had torn the book in front of Harry's eyes, and beaten him around a bit before tossing him into his cupboard, unceremoniously.

Harry had been mortified when Uncle Vernon tore the book; he would have to pay for the fines—the Dursleys would never admit it wasn't his fault!—not to mention he quite liked the book and was hoping to read it in his cupboard that night. Ever since, he had not brought a book back to the Dursleys' home.

_He seemed to be afraid of Hagrid, well enough. Maybe he's afraid of magic?_ Harry mused of his Uncle Vernon, a hopeful tinge to his thoughts. Uncle Vernon had just been so angry… and Harry doubted he would miss that anger when he returned home—_if I return home_, Harry thought to himself. He would have to ask Hagrid if he had to return to his relatives' house.

Just then, he heard a grunt that signified the awakening of Hagrid. He looked over at the giant's bed. Hagrid had worn an orange and teal, pinstriped pair of pajamas to bed. The pajamas were, predictably, pulled out from his seemingly never-ending overcoat.

"A'right, Harry?" Hagrid said, in a way of greeting once he had gotten up from his bed, which inflated once more from relief. Hagrid pulled out a spindly old chair from the corner and indicated that Harry should sit on it. Hagrid himself sat on his bed once more, which sagged under his weight.

"Listen Harry, I need ter tell yeh what happened ter yeh parents an' you. Yeh can't be here in our world without knowin'. There's just too many people'd recognise yeh; yeh do look an awful lot like yer dad, af'er all." Hagrid said to him. Harry, for his part, was at complete attention. This was something he needed to know, this was important.

"Y'see, Harry, awhile back there was a wizard. A wizard who went bad. Bad as yeh can go, I think. Yeh see, Harry, he was right powerful, some say he was the most powerful wizard there ever was. 'Course, Albus Dumbledore is, really, but some people aren't believin' that," Hagrid had a definite note of pride in his voice when speaking of Albus Dumbledore. "This wizard, Lord V-V-Voldemort was his name (but we don't say it! We don't never say his name!), started gatherin' followers.

"People've always been attracted ter people't're more powerful'n themselves, and this case's no different. He got loads of followers. Mostly people 'at was scared, others that just wanted a bit o' his powers fer 'emselves. These were Dark days, Harry. Yeh didn't know who ter trust, back then. Never got too comfortable 'round strange witches or wizards, never knew who might be with him, or who might be against him.

"People stood up against him… they all died. Nearly, anyway. Died horribly, the most of 'em. Some places—Hogwarts, fer one—You-Know-Who couldn't get ter. E'eryone reckons Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who ever feared, never even tried ter get Hogwarts, 'fraid Dumbledore'd do 'im in, I s'pose.

"Well, _You-Know-Who_, he did a lot of bad things. He killed people—loads of people. 'Think he just liked doin' it, and it was somethin' he was good at, so he did. He killed loads of wizards an' witches, some o' the best people I'd ever known was killed by him. Some of the most powerful magical families in Britain—the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—all of 'em, killed by You-Know-Who.

"Then there were yer parents, Harry. They was as powerful a witch an' wizard I'd ever seen, 'cept Dumbledore, o' course. I s'pose the real mystery is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em to join him. Probably s'pected they was too close to Dumbledore. He'da bin right too, yer parents—Head boy and girl in their day—was always close to Dumbledore." Hagrid paused a moment, collecting himself.

Harry, who had been listening with rapt attention, drinking in every word, had slightly misted eyes at this point. His parents had been good people. The Dursleys were wrong. Harry felt both elation and dread. His parents had been good people, but they were killed in the end. By Voldemort—Harry had no qualms about using his name…in his own head, anyway.

"You-Know-Who was terrible, worse than worse, he was takin' over everywhere. It didn't look like anyone'd be able ter stop him, not even Dumbledore. Then, one Halloween night, he came ter yer parent's hidin' spot. They knew You-Know-Who was after 'em, so they were hidin' from him in a Muggle village. Anyway—he came ter yer house and fought yer parents. Put up a good fight too, from the looks o' the place. He 'n yer dad dueled. And You-Know-Who —" Hagrid broke up as his shoulders shook for a moment.

"Sorry, it's just so sad. Yer parents were the best people I'd ever knew, and You-Know-Who just… just killed 'em! He killed yer dad first, we think he put up a good fight. There was blood there, at their cottage, an' it wasn't just yer dad and mum's. We found yer dad on the ground floor, murdered…" Hagrid took a deep breath, "and we found yer mum up top, not two feet from you.

"You-Know-Who killed everyone 'e ever set out ter, but after he'd killed yer parents…. He turned his wand on you. He cast a curse—the most terrible curse there ever was, the same curse that he'd used ter kill 'undreds of the best wizards in the world, yer mum and dad included—and it failed. From what Professor Dumbledore says, the curse backfired on him, just bounced righ' off o' yeh. That's the truly 'stoundin' thing—You-Know-Who, the most evil wizard o' all time, toppled by a little boy. He lost his powers, vanished—all you got was that scar on yer head." Hagrid informed him, with something akin to awe and undulated respect in his tone of voice.

Harry touched his hand to his scar. He had never understood how a car crash could give him a scar so curiously shaped. After all, what in a car was shaped like a bolt of lightning? Harry had tears coming down his face slowly, but he did not sob. He cried silently, listening to the true details of his parents' deaths.

"Some say he died," Hagrid continued, in reference to Voldemort, "Codswallop, in my 'pinion. Nah," Hagrid shook his wild haired and heavily bearded face, "I reckon he's still out there… bidin' his time. Don't reckon he had enough human left in him ter truly die…"

"C'mon, we gots lots ter buy," Hagrid said, after the two had dressed and made their way to the door. "If people stare at yeh, jus' try 'n' ignore 'em, a'right Harry?"

Harry just nodded, and followed Hagrid out the door and down the corridor that led to the stairway into the centre of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry really hoped people wouldn't stare. He didn't think he was all that special, really. He couldn't do anything more than he was sure other wizarding children were capable of.

He, however, _was_ stared at. Not in the way the Dursleys stared at him whenever he entered the room, but still they stared. The room was silent for a moment, before a balding, gray-haired man asked, in a shaky voice, "Bless my soul… Harry Potter?"

"Er… yes sir. I'm Harry Potter, sir." Harry had been told to always address those who were better than him as either 'sir' or 'ma'am'. The room went quiet again at his pronouncement.

"What an honour it is, Mr. Potter," said an old witch that had come bustling up to shake his hand. "I'm Doris Crockford, can't thank you enough for what you did, Mr. Potter."

After that, the people began pouring in to shake his hand or slap him on the back or, in one over-enthusiastic witch's case, shriek her thanks in rhyme. A half-hour later, Harry had finally finished shaking hands (Doris Crockford kept coming back) with every member of the pub at least twice, Harry and Hagrid saw a slim, trembling man in a purple turban in the back of the pub.

"Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid called to him, evidently already acquainted with him.

"H-H-Hagrid," the man stuttered in greeting, "How g-g-good it is t-t-to see y-you."

"Professor, I'd like yeh ter meet Harry Potter," Hagrid said to the man, whilst gesturing at Harry.

Harry, remembering his manners, immediately shot his hand out, "Good morning, Professor." When, after a moment, it became clear that Professor Quirrell had no intention of returning the gesture, Harry asked, "What do you teach, Professor?"

"D-D-Defence Against the D-D-D-Dark Arts—not that you need it, e-eh P-P-Potter?" Quirrell responded to Harry's query, with a shaky laugh. Harry got the distinct impression that he was terrified by his own subject.

"Well, we've got to be off now, Professor," Hagrid said to Professor Quirrell, "Lots ter buy for young Mr. Potter."

"O-O-Of c-c-c-c-c-course!" Quirrell replied, before walking off to the bar to, presumably, buy a stiff drink.

"Is always so… nervous?" Harry asked Hagrid once Professor Quirrell was out of earshot.

"Oh yeah, poor bloke. Brilliant mind, mind you, but he had a bit of trouble with vampires and hags off in the Black Forest, never been the same since, scared o' the students these days…" Hagrid trailed off.

Harry and Hagrid proceeded out the back door of the Leaky Cauldron and into a small back alleyway. "Right, stand back, then," Hagrid told Harry. He pulled out a pink umbrella and tapped the brick wall in front of them three times. Harry watched in shock and awe as the wall seemed to open, starting with a small hole large enough for a fly, until before him stood an archway that could easily accommodate even Hagrid.

Harry looked out past the arch once he had passed through. His jaw hit the floor. "Welcome, Harry, ter Diagon Alley." Hagrid said, his arms spread wide in the direction of the Alley, in an expression of welcoming.

The Alley was fantastic. The nearest shop had scores of cauldrons stacked outside: Copper ones, Brass ones, Pewter, Silver, Gold, Collapsible, Self-Stirring, Platinum, Cast Iron, and one that appeared to be made entirely from highly polished granite.

Hagrid saw Harry looking at wonder at the cauldrons. "Yeh'll need one, but we gotta get yer money first."

A dozen or so eyes, Harry thought, would be useful about now. The whole Alley seemed teeming with the most unlikely of things. Harry was mildly worried he would get whiplash from all of the head-turning he was doing. There was just so much that demanded his attention! Apothecaries with mad witches and wizards muttering phrases about dragons, liver, Sickles, Knuts, and Galleons.

Harry was completely mystified by the entire situation. Here he was, in the middle of London, in what surely was the most magical place in all the world! It astounded Harry to no end that just beyond the small pub the Leaky Cauldron was a most ordinary place whose very world clashed violently with the likes of this one.

"We'll be needin' ter go ter Gringotts now, Harry." Hagrid said to Harry, unexpectedly.

"Er… right." Harry said. He didn't quite know how to react, he thought Gringotts might be some sort of deformation of the face, but he couldn't be sure.

As it turned out, Gringotts was one of the most fascinating places Harry had ever been. Gringotts was a bank. More specifically, it was a wizards' bank. For a wizards' bank, however, it had quite unusual employees. Goblins.

Harry thought they were quite repulsive creatures. At least as far as physicalities went. They were short creatures that had morphed features and rough-looking skin. They looked quite formidable enough without their gruff exterior being complimented and supplemented by their equally gruff personalities.

"Yeh don't want ter mess with goblins, Harry. Right tricky buggers, them," Hagrid warned him. "Great for guardin' gold, though. Not things ter be taken lightly, goblins. Got ter be mad ter try an' steal summat from 'em. E'eryone knows 'at Gringotts is ter safest place in the world fer anythin' you want ter keep safe — 'cept perhaps Hogwarts." Every time the word Hogwarts was uttered, Harry noticed, Hagrid's face gained a peaceful look. When Hagrid spoke the word Hogwarts, however, it went one step further. It was always said with a tone of deepest adoration and awe that was so very out of place on the features of the benevolent giant.

The improbable duo made their way to a counter at the end of the long, marble hall. A goblin sat there and when Hagrid and Harry approached him, he glared malevolently. The goblin stared at Harry for a moment and then gave him a feral grin that Harry, had he known more about goblins, would have been most wary of. Goblins rarely smiled.

"And so returns the saviour. How do you do, Mr. Potter?" the goblin asked politely. Harry, thanks to living with the Dursleys did not have the wizarding bias against goblins , replied without any qualms.

"I am well, Mr.…" he trailed off, as he did not know the goblin's name.

"Please, Mr. Potter, it is just Griphook." the goblin, Griphook, replied congenially. Harry missed Hagrid's shocked expression. No one _ever_ was treated with this much respect by a goblin, let alone was invited to call him by his given name! The only time Hagrid had seen something like this was when he had once accompanied Albus Dumbledore to Gringotts on business of curious anonymity.

"I would like access to my vault, if it may be permitted, Griphook." Harry was a natural when dealing with goblins. He seemed prone to politeness when meeting strangers, but this was a most respectful way to converse with a goblin. Hagrid was completely floored. Most witches and wizards treated goblins with disdain, but Harry seemed to realise that they were a people worthy of absolute respect and politeness without being told. Hagrid knew of only two wizards who ever had such graceful ways of doing things. And he only spoke the name of one of them.

"Of course, Mr. Potter, if you would please follow me?" the goblin seemed to realise that he was in the presence of future greatness and was being downright _amiable_! The goblin stepped down from his elevated desk and beckoned Harry to follow him. Hagrid followed, bringing up the rear, his jaw lax due to his atypical companion.

"Griphook, as you have allowed me to call you by your given name, will you not call me by mine?" asked Harry, in super-politeness mode, with something not far removed from reverence in his voice. Harry could feel a tingling of something pleasant resounding off of the goblin. He felt something similar, however fainter, in the presence of Hagrid. He had no idea what it was, nor what function it served, but he felt—for some inexplicable reason—that what he was feeling was a good thing—something special.

The goblin gave a short bow. Lifting up only his head to show his toothy grin he replied, "An honour, it is, Sir."

Harry knew nothing of goblins. But even he realised that they were proud beings, and that to be bowed to respectfully by one was one of the greater honours on the earth.

Hagrid went from stunned to astonished. First, Harry knows the proper etiquette for dealings with a goblin. Second, the goblin shows respect to him, incredible amounts of respect—respect enough to ask that he is called by his given name! And now thirdly, the goblin _bows_ to him! Goblins _never _bow to wizards, unless it is at an incredibly formal event that demands outrageous displays of courtesy.

Goblins pride themselves on lack of subservience and here is a goblin, bowing down to a wizard! Hagrid could not express in words how shocked he was at that moment. Not even Albus Dumbledore had ever been shown such respect. Hagrid now firmly believed that incredible things could be expected from Harry Potter. If not even Albus Dumbledore, the greatest Sorcerer of the age, was shown such courteousness…

Harry and Griphook continued on down the path toward the carts that would take them to the vaults making small talk. A goblin… is making small talk! Hagrid's jaw seemed to become more slackened with every word spoken. He would have to tell Dumbledore about this. This was just too extraordinary, and Harry seemed to have no idea about the miracles he was working.

Cart ride to Harry's vault was quick. It was only a five minute ride to the vault, the newer vaults being closer to the ground floor of Gringotts and the older, typically richer, vaults located in the lower levels. Harry's vault door had a small stone landing before it, the vault looked as though it had not been disturbed for a decade or so.

The three occupants of the cart, one of whom was a delicate shade of green and wobbling dangerously, got out and approached the door. Harry looked toward Hagrid, a question in his gaze.

Hagrid stared back at Harry for a moment before realisation hit him. With a grunting of 'oh!', Hagrid pulled a small golden key out of one of the many pockets of his enormous moleskin overcoat. "Just put 'er in the keyhole, Harry," Hagrid instructed, handing Harry the miniscule object.

Harry turned away from omni-coated giant and the currently silent goblin and found the keyhole that Hagrid had spoken of. He inserted the key into the hole and was on the verge of turning it when he faltered. "Hagrid… I don't think there is anything in there. The Dursleys would have taken it, however much there is. I don't think their dislike of me would extent so far as a pile of money…" Harry said dejectedly.

Hagrid, for his part, just chuckled good-naturedly at Harry's unfounded worry. "Don't worry 'bout it, Harry. Gringotts's got its ways o' keepin' things from wizards, forget Muggles." Hagrid knew what was in Harry's vault, but didn't want to cease Harry's shock before it even began. "Go on, Harry. Yer parents left yeh a good deal o' money, I reckon. They wasn't 'xactly poor 'emselves, yeh know."

Harry nodded and, steeling himself for disappointment, turned the key in the lock. The door had only opened an inch when Harry's eyes were assaulted by golden light. He covered his eyes and turned to look questioningly at Hagrid. Hagrid just smiled. Harry pulled the door open more and peered inside. His jaw fell open.

Inside the relatively small room was a mountain of golden Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. Harry was in shock. The Dursleys must have no idea about this; they would never allow him this much money. He turned around to see both Griphook and Hagrid grinning broadly (well, Griphook's was grimacing more than grinning, but it was the closest things Harry thought him capable of).

"W-What do I do with it all?" Harry asked, feeling mildly like his unusual Professor. "I-I can't possibly need this much gold! How did it all get here? Wasn't my parents' house destroyed?" Harry asked, slightly panicked. He was afraid there had been some kind of mistake or error and this money actually belonged to someone worthy of it all.

Hagrid chuckled again, "Harry, yer parents didn't keep their money in ter house! Besides, what did yeh think yer parents'd left yeh? Chicken feed?"

"Well… I mean… I never expected this much! I'll never find a use for this much money!" Harry said to the giant exasperatedly. "I could never lift a finger all my life and still live comfortably for a hundred years!" Harry simply didn't know what to do. He was completely floored. The Dursleys would seize this money in a half-moment.

"Why don't the Dursleys know about this? I live with them, so isn't this their money, too?" Harry asked, this time his questioning was directed toward Griphook.

"No, Harry," the goblin chuckled, whether out of amusement of using a customers name or of Harry's own naivety it was unclear, "Your parents left this money to you when they died, they did not leave it to either Petunia or Vernon Dursley. This is all yours and you could, indeed, retire on it."

Harry, accepting it as his gold, now turned to Hagrid. "Hagrid, how much gold am I going to need for all my things?" Harry queried.

"Jus' grab a handful of each, Harry," Hagrid advised.

And so Harry did. After Harry had filled a sack that he had found in his vault full of Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons, they set out of the vault. Harry had just gotten in the cart, Hagrid in front of him and Griphook in front of Hagrid, when Hagrid leaned over and whispered something in Griphook's ear.

"An' could we go a bit slower this time 'round?" Hagrid asked anxiously.

The goblin grinned. "One speed only."

Down and down they went, left, right, left, left, left, right, right, left, right, left, right, and finally one more right. Harry guessed that they were now miles beneath London and Harry's vault. Finally they rolled to a stop in front of vault number seven-hundred and thirteen. Harry was about to ask what they were there for, when he decided that there must be a good reason he had not been told.

Hagrid wobbled unsteadily as he got out of the cart and turned to Harry. "Jus' wait here a mo', Harry, I'll be righ' back," Hagrid said to him. Harry did as he was told and remained in the cart as Hagrid and Griphook made their way over to the large, cast iron door of vault seven-hundred and thirteen.

Harry was looking at his surroundings when he saw it. Dead ahead of him was a large head. It was scaly and horned, it opened its gaping mouth and fired billowed out. Harry quickly scrambled out of the car and onto the landing in front of the vault.

He had just turned to face the door when he saw Hagrid enter and pick up a grubby, badly wrapped parcel out of the centre of the room. Beyond that one package, the entire vault was absolutely empty. Not even a spider web adorned the barren stone room. It was a very eerie site to see; the gloomy, fierce looking gargoyle statues outside of the vault did not brighten the view whatsoever.

"Hagrid!" Harry said loudly to attract a distant looking Hagrid, "There's dragons, Hagrid! One of them blew fire in the direction of the cart!" Harry said quite quickly, obviously a bit distressed by the experience.

"Blimey, Harry! Is there really? Blimey, would I like a dragon." Hagrid said in the most excited voice Harry had ever heard him use. Hagrid then turned to the goblin, Griphook. "Can we go passed 'em? Fascinatin' creatures, dragons." Hagrid was craning his head at strange angles, trying to see the dragon Harry had spotted.

"You are not permitted to the vaults guarded by the dragons. We must return to the lobby now," said Griphook in a most professional voice. Hagrid gave a sorrowful sigh, but did not protest as he got into the cart, followed closely by Harry.

The return journey left Harry disoriented and more than a little dizzy. Hagrid had a much worse time of it, however; he had lost the contents of his stomach on the twelfth turn and still looked terribly green.

They were once more in the lobby and Harry turned to Griphook. "Thank you for your help, Griphook. Might I call on you again next time I am here?" Harry asked in the same extraordinarily polite tone of voice.

"Certainly Harry. It would be my pleasure," the goblin assured Harry.

"Good day, Griphook." Harry gave his good-bye.

"Good day, Harry." Griphook returned it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1.Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2.One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

3.One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

_Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we find this all here in Diagon Alley, Hagrid?" Harry asked, once they had exited Gringotts and Harry had had a closer look at the letter Hagrid had given him the day before.

"Sure we can, Harry! Yeh just got ter knows where ter look!" Hagrid responded enthusiastically. He had since recovered from the cart ride, it would seem.

"Let's get yer books firs' then," Hagrid suggested. It sounded good to Harry, so off they were to a bookshop in the middle of the Alley called Flourish and Blotts. It was a large bookshop and was very crowded. Witches and wizards of all ages bustled about the shop looking for what they needed.

Harry followed Hagrid (who parted the crowed with ease) to a section with the words "HOGWARTS" emblazoned on it. Harry looked through the books for awhile, eventually getting the ones he needed from the "YEAR ONE" subsection.

Harry made his way up to the counter with Hagrid in tow. He paid two Galleons and three Sickles for his books, and he and Hagrid left the packed bookshop.

Harry and Hagrid had parted ways for a while—Hagrid had gone to get Harry his scales, telescope, phials, and cauldron while Harry went to get fitted for robes ("I'll be done before yeh anyway, robes take forever ter get fitted fer").

So now here Harry was, standing next to a pale boy with a pointed face and blonde hair, standing on a stool getting over-large robes pinned up by a young woman who, thankfully, had no idea who he was.

"I really don't think they should let the others in, do you? People that have never even known what they are. They should just keep it in the old pureblood families, don't you agree?" without waiting for answer, the boy (who forcibly reminded Harry of Dudley) continued, "Muggle-borns…" here the boy gave a grumble, "they should just curse them all…" the boy trailed off as he saw Hagrid outside of the window through which Harry and the boy could be seen.

"I say! Look at that man!" the pale boy said in disgust.

"That's Hagrid; he's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts." Harry was glad he could finally talk to the boy about something he knew.

"I've heard of him! He's a savage! Gets drunk and sets his bed on fire, I hear. Lives on the edge of the Forbidden Forest! Don't know why they allow him to stay on…" the boy insulted the giant of a man.

"I think he's brilliant." Harry said with ice in his tone. He didn't like this boy, nor did he like the boy insulting his friend. Harry felt funny thinking that word. As far as he could remember, he had never had a friend.

The boy was about to retort when Madam Malkin, a short, plump witch in maroon robes entered. "You're done, dear," she said to Harry, who sighed in relief. He couldn't wait to get away from this boy.

He exited the shop, his robes bundled in his arms, and walked up to Hagrid. "Just yer wand ter get now, Harry," Hagrid said in greeting.

This was what Harry was anticipating the most. A magic wand… Harry fantacised briefly about what he could do to Dudley with his very own magic wand…

Hagrid and Harry walked a short distance to an old building that had a wooden sign that indicated the building to be 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A lone wand lay on a once gleaming purple pillow that had faded in the incessant sunlight over the years. All 2,373 years of them. Hagrid parted ways with Harry here, vaguely stating he was going to look for something. Harry entered the shop.

Mr. Ollivander was a very odd man. He acknowledged Harry's presence with a softly-spoken "Good afternoon." Harry jumped half a foot off of the ground and his shoulders shook at the sound of the man's voice.

Mr. Ollivander was an old man; he had wide, pale eyes that shined the like the full moon on a dark night. His hair was silver and slightly curlier than Harry was used to seeing. Mr. Ollivander seemed quite far away, his expression vacant, but curious at the same time.

"Harry Potter," he stated. "I was wondering when I would be seeing you. It seems merely a day ago when your parents were in here buying their first wands. Your mother, ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Delightful wand for charms work, it was. And so was she.

"You father favored an eleven inch mahogany wand, quite pliable, more powerful than your mother's. Excellent wand for transfiguration, as he himself was. But saying that your father favoured it, that's not quite it, is it?" He definitely had the air of a man who often had only himself for company. He questioned the gloomy air of the dark shop, rather than Harry whom was watching Ollivander curiously. "It is, of course, the wand that chooses the wizard, is it not?" Once more, he addressed more himself or, perhaps, the wands than anyone else in his questioning.

"You've inherited your mother's eyes," he said to Harry, unexpectedly. From wands to eyes, the man seemed to be one of spontaneity. It unnerved Harry greatly. He touched Harry's scar for a moment, his long fingers brushing aside the fringe that covered nearly half of the mark. "Ah, yes… my work as well." Harry shuddered involuntarily, "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew—extraordinarily powerful. In the wrong hands… it has most disastrous results, as I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Potter."

"Well, Mr. Potter, let us have a look then. Which is your wand arm?" All of this seemed like a perfectly logical question to Ollivander.

Harry just dumbly responded "Well… er—I'm right handed?"

"That is it then," Ollivander's voice intoned. Harry got chills down his spine whenever Ollivander spoke… "Hold out your arm."

Harry did as he was told, his right arm outstretched. He was measured from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, round the head, and feet to eye. He spoke as he measured Harry. "Yes…. That is it…. Every Ollivander wand has a powerful magical core—I use Phoenix tail feathers, unicorn hairs, and the heartstrings of dragons… The most powerful of substances, I think you will find, should you look. There are very few identical wands… I possess only two pairs of exact brother wands… You will never get such good results with another's wand as you do with your own… The wand chooses the wizard…" Ollivander spoke in a whisper, but it carried throughout the room, and Harry wished Hagrid were here to help him out. Harry didn't trust Ollivander.

Harry saw Mr. Ollivander rummaging through boxes in a left-hand corner of the room, whilst the tape measurer continued its measurements. Ollivander was evidently satisfied with the measurements he had gotten, as he spoke the words, "That shall do," to the tape measurer, which promptly fell from the floor as surely as had he dropped it there.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter. Beechwood and dragon heartstring… nine inches. Flexible, without being too bendy…. Give it a wave, Mr. Potter."

Harry was just about to wave it, as he was told, when Ollivander crossed the room and snatched it from his grasp. "No. It is not right. Not right, at all."

"Maple and the feather of a phoenix? Seven inches, whippy. A wave, if you would." Ollivander coaxed.

Harry hadn't even raised his hand when Ollivander snatched the wand from his hand. "No, no, no." Ollivander spoke to the wand softly. "You shall not do."

"Ebony and unicorn hair? Eight and a half?" Harry raised his arm, "No! No, definitely not that wand." He spoke in a harsh whisper that echoed eerily throughout the room as simply as if he were standing in a cave.

Wand after wand, Harry tried. For two hours, no results had been shown. Harry had been through most of the store when Ollivander came into view holding a black boxed wand with reverence and fear. "Mr. Potter…."

Harry opened the box and took out the wand. He raised it above his head and, as he did, red and gold sparks shot from the wand and lit up the entire shop. "Oh my, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said after Harry's demonstration. "This…. most curious, Mr. Potter. Eleven inches, tail feather of a phoenix, holly. Supple. So very… curious…." Ollivander trailed off.

"Sorry… but what's curious?" Harry asked, he thought everything was going great! He'd found a match! But Ollivander did not look happy at all… he looked very troubled and not just a little alarmed.

"That one, Mr. Potter, has two brothers. You now have one. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has one, the Dark Lord, the wand he used… You have its brother—one of them, at least. The other… the other continues to lie here—dormantly awaiting its master-to-be. It is, oddly enough, your wand's twin.

"I feel we can expect great things from you, incredible things… For the Dark Lord, too, performed great things… terrible, yes…" his voice was but a murmur, "but great. Oh yes… the Dark Lord did such extraordinary things…"

Harry met up with Hagrid outside of Ollivanders, whose shop he practically fled. Hagrid had a snowy owl with him.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hagrid said, holding up the cage higher.

Harry grinned broadly. He had never had a proper birthday present before, and now he had a companion. "Thanks, Hagrid!"

"No problem, Harry. Yeh deserve a birthday present, af'er all."

Harry and Hagrid left Diagon Alley and went to King's Cross so that Harry could catch a train to Little Whinging. He had been assured by Hagrid that the Dursleys had returned. He was also advised to threaten the Dursleys with magic if they tried anything. Harry had all kinds of ideas.

In less than a month, Harry would be amongst wizards, at a school that taught him something that he was desperate to learn. The summer, he could endure.

**A/N:** _Same time, same place next Sunday._


	7. Chapter 7: The Correspondence of Self

**Chapter Seven**

**The Correspondence of Self**

When Harry Potter arrived on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, Vernon and Petunia Dursley were not happy. They did not strike Harry or lash out, but rather, they flinched away when they opened the door after he had knocked. They—Harry's tormentors for ten years—were frightened of him. They were frightened, not of the little boy's bulk (or lack thereof) that stood before them, but of the unknown quality he personified. They knew enough to realise that to be frightened would be wise, but did not know enough to realise that such fears were, at the moment, unfounded.

Harry Potter could threaten them with magic, yes—but he could not perform it. He had to bluff, and hope that the Dursleys took the bait. They did, and without any verbal warning from Harry.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon," he inclined his head forward slightly toward the beefy man, "Aunt Petunia," he said, repeating his cranial inclination.

"Get in! Get in before the neighbors see!" Aunt Petunia demanded in a shrill whisper. She may be terrified of this wizard-in-training, but she was also terrified of being viewed as abnormal by her ever-judgmental neighbors. And they were right to judge her, for she judged them in return. After all, roundabout is fair play.

Harry entered the home of Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley. Harry refused to add his name to that list now, he felt defiant now that he knew he was different from them—so _very_ different from them.

Harry strode past the Dursleys, lugging a large trunk that Hagrid had picked out for him, to the foot of the stairs. "I'll be in my room," Harry informed them, not that he expected it to matter to them. If they wanted to bother him for something, they would. Harry began to haul his mostly-full trunk up the flight of steps that would eventually lead to his humble abode.

His trunk, whilst not full, was quite heavy for him to take up a flight of steps. He tried several different ways of carrying the trunk, but he was simply not strong enough. He settled for taking it off of the small cart Hagrid had gotten for it and dragging it, at a forty-five degree angle, up the carpeted stairway.

After a decent amount of lugging, he had dragged it up to his room. He opened the door slowly, and stepped inside. Turning around to drag his trunk, while walking in the reverse, he pulled it into his room with some difficulty. He ended up leaving it next to a rickety old desk that was in the room.

Harry placed his owl's (whom he had yet to name) empty cage on the windowsill. He had let her out to stretch her wings on the train ride home. He didn't think that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would like the idea of a white, snowy owl flying around the neighborhood, so he thought it would be good for her to stretch her wings while it was still feasible.

Harry popped open his trunk and pulled out his copy of _Magical Theory_. He decided that, since he would have nothing else to do for the next month, he might as well read up on magic. He wanted to have an edge on the other students; he didn't want to be the only student at Hogwarts who had no idea about magic. And… some secret part of him wanted to be ready for Voldemort. Hagrid had told him that he didn't think he had died but was just biding his time… if that were true; Harry was going to be ready. He was going to avenge his parents and all of those people that Hagrid spoke of.

Harry found that understanding magic from the book wasn't all that difficult. He read for a couple of hours before deciding to quit for the night. It was late, Harry didn't know how late, as he did not have a clock in his room or a watch on his wrist, but he figured it to be not far from midnight.

And so Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, lay his head down on his pillow and fell into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of his times-to-be at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Things progressed like this for the next two weeks. Harry would not be disturbed by the Dursleys and would spend a great deal of time poring over his schoolbooks and wishing that he could try some of it in his bedroom. He thought he'd gotten it all right, but he couldn't actually be sure without practical application.

Hedwig, as he had named his owl (a name he had filched from his copy of _A History of Magic_), had found her way to number four the day after Harry had. He had awoken to find her perched on top of her cage, staring at him with large, blinking, amber eyes.

On the sixteenth of August, Harry could be found reading out of his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ when a loud knock was heard on his door. This was odd, as the Dursleys had not bothered him yet this summer. Indeed, they ignored his presence entirely, at mealtimes they would act as if any chair with Harry in it were empty.

Harry stalked over to the door, seized the handle, and turned. "Yes?" he asked, the door open only enough for his face to be visible.

"We've let you lie around long enough! You are going to start doing your chores again! I won't have any freeloaders in my house, boy!" Harry's purple-faced Uncle Vernon spat at him.

Harry, for his part, did not flinch. He simply looked Vernon Dursley dead in the eye, "No. I won't be doing any slave-labour for you, Uncle Vernon," Harry said with only one emotion in his voice: determination.

"SLAVE LABOUR!" his Uncle exploded, "WE TOOK YOU IN BOY! YOU WILL DO AS I SAY! I AM THE HEAD OF THIS HOUSEHOLD! WE TOOK YOU IN OUT OF THE KINDNESS OF OUR HEARTS," here Harry had to suppress a snort, despite his face being sprayed with the spit of the irate man before him, "YOU WILL RESPECT ME! YOU WILL DO AS I SAY!"

Harry continued to look at him with a level gaze. "No. I won't. I'm sure Dudley is free, though." Harry was more than a little surprised at his own daring. He knew better than to make jabs at Dudley, so he was not entirely surprised by Uncle Vernon's next course of action.

Vernon Dursley reared back his sizable fist, and pummeled Harry's nose with it.

"DON'T GET SMART WITH ME, BOY! YOU WILL DO AS I SAY IN MY HOME!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "WE RAISED YOU, CLOTHED YOU, FED YOU—ALL OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF OUR HEARTS AND YOU REPAY US BY MAKING COMMENTS ABOUT YOUR COUSIN? YOU COULD DO TO TAKE A LEAF OUT OF DUDLEY'S BOOK BOY! YOU'D LEARN SOME MANNERS, START TREATING YOUR BETTERS WITH RESPECT!"

Harry, who was sprawled out on the floor, lifted his head slightly. He knew that he had gone too far, he should have seen this coming. "I'LL BEAT THAT—THAT—_UNNATURALNESS_ OUT OF YOU IF I HAVE TO!" Uncle Vernon's foot impacted Harry's ribs, and Harry felt several of them crack under the strain of Uncle Vernon's foot.

"ABNORMAL—FREAK—YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!" another stomp. Harry both felt and heard several more of his ribs crack. "OUGHT—TO'VE—DONE—THIS—A LONG—TIME AGO!" Vernon Dursley bellowed in insane rage. His words were accompanied by the side of Harry's head being stomped on (Harry had, at this point, curled into the fetal position on his side) by Vernon's leather, formal shoes that Harry was normally expected to polish with regularity.

Harry heard Uncle Vernon continue to rant for but a moment before he felt a sharp pain in his head once more and blackness overtook him.

_Oh God, let me live through this…_ Harry Potter thought to himself when he regained consciousness some days later. He knew this beating had been bad. He knew that his Uncle had gone farther than ever before. His inability to catch his breath and terrible headache, mixed with the blackness of his vision, was a testament to that.

_I've finally found somewhere I belong, please don't let this be the end when I'm so close_, Harry thought in despair and desperation. Things had really been looking up for Harry. He had a friend, a place where people liked him, and a world full of things—keys to the locks of his past.

_I should have had my wand with me! I've never done any magic before… at least not on purpose… but I've read enough! I could have done something!_ But the fact was that Harry Potter had not had his wand with him when he had been attacked. It was under a loose floorboard that he had discovered not long into his stay in the smallest bedroom. He had hidden it there in case Uncle Vernon had ever tried to take all of Harry's "freakish" things from him. He had hidden in case he ever needed it.

And then, oh the great irony—when it was most needed, it was nowhere to be found. Harry was no match for Uncle Vernon in a physical fight. Harry knew that. Uncle Vernon's girth could easily outstrip Harry's advantage of speed.

_I'll never have my wand away from me ag…_ his own thoughts died out as the darkness overtook him once more.

It took Harry more than a week to fully recover from his ordeal, physically at least. Harry really was glad that he healed so quickly, he thought that it must be because of his magic. He'd seen, once, a television show where a man died from injuries much less severe than his own. Harry knew that he was lucky to be alive.

His healing was slow going. He had awoken several times over the course of his recovery, and each time the pain was lessened. After a couple of wakings, Harry could see fully and the headache that had plagued him had died down. His ribs were, still, very sore. But they would be alright, Harry had decided.

Harry had thought about sending Hagrid an owl, telling him what had happened, but decided against it. Uncle Vernon would be in even more of a towering temper than he had been before. Besides, Harry was still alive wasn't he? Wasn't that enough? He could deal with his Uncle without assistance; he could manage.

Harry lay in his bed (which he had had to clean thoroughly, several times, to get the smell of human waste and empty-stomached vomit out of it) and thought about the days ahead. He was only two days away from the first of September; he was nearly free of the Dursleys.

Harry couldn't wait. He could leave! For a whole year too! Well… almost a whole year, anyway—but the important thing was that he was leaving them! He was going to a school to be taught magic!

Harry got up off of his bed and crossed the small room to his old, wooden desk. He pulled out the rickety chair that graced its front, and sat down. He lifted up his book _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ and began to read. The spells were all pretty mild in comparison with what Harry knew he would be learning one day (Hagrid had mentioned that he would one day be able to turn the Dursleys into the pigs they were, if he studied hard enough), but they were fascinating all the same.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket (he always had it with him now, just as he had resolved in a fit of consciousness earlier that week) and began to practise the wand movement that was required to make something levitate. This was something Harry was anxious to get to Hogwarts for. He thought he might be able to perform the spell. The wand movements were not terribly difficult and he could concentrate on the object (in this case an old shoe of Dudley's) floating.

And so Harry practised. He knew better than to try and actually perform the spell. Hagrid had warned him about it being illegal to practise magic outside of school when you're underage. But Harry decided that it couldn't hurt to just say the words in his head and practise the wand movements.

And so Harry did. _Wingardium Leviosa!_ he intoned in his head, whilst swishing and flicking his wand at the old, brown shoe. Harry was more than a little shocked when the shoe began to float. He immediately broke the spell by moving his wand in a downward motion, forcing the shoe back to the ground.

Then he began to panic. What if they sent him to prison? Or expelled him? Or worse—what if the wizarding world had the death penalty! Hagrid had told him that if he performed magic away from Hogwarts, he would receive an owl from the Ministry of Magic within a dozen or so minutes.

So Harry made for his bed and sat down. He waited for ten minutes. He waited for fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. An hour. No letter. Harry was confused. Hagrid had told him that he would get a letter for using magic. Why hadn't he?

Harry had concluded that, for some reason, the Ministry of Magic had not detected his magic use. He didn't know why, but was thankful—the last thing he wanted right now was trouble with the magical law; he wasn't even in school yet!

Harry decided not to tempt fate, and left his magic alone for the time being. There would be plenty of time for the practical application of magic when he got to Hogwarts. For now, he would just read his textbooks, and pray that he wasn't behind everyone else on the first.

Two days later, Harry waited downstairs for Uncle Vernon to come down. He had been up since five because he was so excited; he was leaving the Dursleys and going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! He smiled at the thought of finally being free of the Dursleys. Pacing back and forth, Harry wondered what his life would be like away from the Dursleys. The brief glimpse of the magical world Hagrid had shown him was beyond amazing and he could not wait to see more. He stopped pacing and sat on his trunk. It was now 6:30. He sighed in exasperation; time was going far too slowly.

There was a small pop and an envelope was lying on his trunk. Harry looked at the letter that had so suddenly appeared. It read simply 'Harry', Harry reached out one tentative hand and took the envelope. The handwriting looked familiar, but he could not place it. He moved to open the letter and stopped. There was a strange weight to the air and the envelope itself felt somehow heavier than it looked. Whatever was in the envelope Harry was sure it would change his life as sure as his Hogwarts letter had.

He opened it. He was very surprised to see there were only three lines and that this was including the opening and closing:

_Get to know Ginny Weasley._

_Fate owed me one,_

_Harry J. Potter_

Harry blinked. He knew this had to be strange, even for wizards, but now he knew why he recognized the handwriting, it was his. _I wonder who Ginny is…and why does Fate owe me one?_

**A/N: **_Yes, it's a short chapter this week. What can I say? It happens. You might recognize some of this chapter from Intromit's _Harry Potter and Fate's Debt_. What you recognize, I don't claim even remotely as my own. See you next Sunday._


	8. Chapter 8: Ginny Weasley

**Chapter Eight**

**Ginny Weasley**

Harry had been waiting downstairs for a little over an hour before Uncle Vernon made an appearance. He had agreed to take Harry to platform nine and three-quarters the day before. At first, Vernon Dursley had been quite opposed to the idea, but when Harry told him what platform he had to be on, Uncle Vernon's eyes lit with a manic light and he immediately agreed to take Harry to King's Cross.

So now Harry Potter could be found in the back seat of his Uncle Vernon's compact car, speeding down the motorway. Uncle Vernon, Harry thought, was driving a bit recklessly. He had just narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an old woman in a white car. Uncle Vernon had shouted good naturedly about her for the next ten minutes.

After a while, Harry and Uncle Vernon pulled into the parking lot of King's Cross station. Uncle Vernon, chuckling to himself, grabbed Harry's trunk and Hedwig. He put them on a trolley and continued back toward the waiting Harry. Harry was completely unnerved by Uncle Vernon's show of happiness. Was this the same Uncle Vernon who had been dead-set against Harry going to Hogwarts that he had encountered in both the rock on the sea and in his room on that night a couple of weeks ago?

"I trust you can find your platform nine and three-quarters by yourself, then?" Uncle Vernon spoke with manic glee in his every syllable. When Harry merely nodded and proceeded down the row of painted signs that identified which platform was which, Uncle Vernon roared with laughter and left for the parking lot.

Harry hadn't the faintest clue why his Uncle was so joyous. He thought that, perhaps, it was just his reaction to being free of Harry for nine months. Harry reasoned, however, that his Uncle was completely against him going earlier on. He didn't know what brought about this change, but was pleased by it. Maybe this would keep up when he returned home next summer?

Harry passed platform eleven and continued on down his way. He was getting some funny looks from people. Harry supposed they weren't used to seeing a young boy dragging around a trunk and being accompanied by a caged owl. Come to think of it, Harry wasn't too used to it either. He still didn't know what to expect when he arrived at Hogwarts.

Harry was passing by platform ten and was continuing on to nine and three-quarters, when he felt a very strong sinking sensation in his stomach. Looking between nine and ten, Harry realised what Uncle Vernon was so jubilant about. There was no nine and three-quarters.

But there had to be! Hagrid had told him that there was! Then, as they so often do when you are despondent, terrible 'what ifs' began to fill his head. What if the whole thing was just an act? What if… what if he had just dreamt it all?

_But it happened! I know it happened!_ part of Harry argued with the other.

_You just dreamt it all, you stupid freak!_ a voice that sounded very much like his Aunt Petunia's filled his head.

Harry was about to turn around and see if he could _walk_ back to Surrey when he heard one of the most welcome partial sentences of his short life. "—packed with Muggles, of course!" said a plump woman with vibrant red hair. She was surrounded by four boys, each with hair as red as hers, and was holding the hand of a small girl. The girl, too, had red hair. Hers was long and her face was dusted with many freckles.

"Platform nine and three-quarters; Mum, can't I go?" begged the girl. Harry felt sympathy for her, he was sure Hogwarts would be fantastic, and the girl looked to still be a year or so off.

The next thing he heard made his heart stop. "You're too young, Ginny, now be quiet!" As the woman spoke, one of what appeared to be her sons ran toward a solid brick wall and, before hitting it, vanished into thin air, as if walking through the obviously solid wall.

Ginny? Surely it couldn't be coincidence that on the day of receiving the letter from, what he presumed to be, his future self, he sees and hears a girl named Ginny. Harry came to a decision.

Striding up to the small girl, he asked, "Sorry, Ginny, right?" Her name sounded natural on his tongue, and the simple five lettered word came from his mouth with much gentleness.

Harry's usual inclination would be to ask the mother, but something told him, on a very subconscious level, to ask this Ginny instead.

The girl, Ginny, smiled at Harry. "Yes," she offered in response.

"Could you—er… show me how to get onto the platform?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling much more nervous and shy than he was a moment before. Perhaps it was the directness of the girl's gaze, or the intense brown colouring of her eyes, perhaps it was even the feeling of safeness and security that he saw in her eyes. But no, that was not it. None of those reasons were the reason for his nervousness.

The same feeling he had when he was interacting with Griphook had come again. This time, it seemed magnified; intensified beyond comprehension. He could _feel_ the goodness of the small girl before him.

She looked oddly at him, too, for a moment. Her eyes gained a surprised look and her smile turned from one of friendliness alone to one of both friendliness and astonishment. Her smile widened when she responded to him, "All you have to do is walk through the wall. Here, I'll show you." She grabbed his hand; and as she did, something most extraordinary happened.

A wave of raw magic soared across the land. It could be felt all the way to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts; more weakly than from whence it had originated, but strongly enough for it to be felt by the room's sole occupant.

Albus Dumbledore, who had been sitting at his desk going over forms for the year at the time of the magical surge, snapped his head up sharply. His brow furrowed and his face gained a look of both great thoughtfulness and mild concern.

Hundreds of miles from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in a seldom used section of the Hall of Records deep inside the recesses of the Ministry of Magic in London, a quill scratched out a sentence that included two names and a date.

No one else on platform nine and three-quarters felt this jolt of magic—except, of course, for the two young participants. Both Harry and the girl recoiled sharply and looked at each other with curious expressions on their faces. Harry felt the feeling of powerful trustworthiness and benignity radiate off of the small girl before him intensify exponentially.

_What the—?_ Harry's thoughts were cut off by the girl before him speaking. "Hi," she stared shyly, "I'm Ginny Weasley." She extended her hand to him again. Harry's heart stopped again. So she _was_ the same girl from the letter!

Harry outstretched to take her hand again, this time with a tentative nature. He wondered if the jolt from before would happen again. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling, but it had shocked Harry greatly when he suddenly felt a pulse run through his hand and throughout his entire body. His hand took hers, this time unaccompanied by any and all manners of strange jolts and pulses.

"I'm Harry," Harry began with the same shyness as Ginny had when she spoke to him, "Harry Potter."

Ginny's eyes flashed open, her eyebrows escaping to her hair. Harry almost immediately wished he hadn't said anything. He didn't want to be treated differently; he was Harry. Just Harry.

Ginny seemed to understand this, because beyond her eyebrows shooting up, she said nothing and just smiled kindly and brightly at him.

After a moment in which they stared into the others' eyes, evidently lost in the depth of them both, Ginny spoke up once more. "Come on," she squeezed his hand slightly, and Harry felt instantly relaxed and at peace, "We just have to walk through. You're supposed to run through, I think—if you're nervous, that is."

Harry found himself actually quite calm, and not at all nervous. He didn't know why, but something about Ginny's presence calmed him greatly.

Harry and Ginny strode hand in hand toward the solid brick wall before them. Harry's first thought was _We're going to crash_, but that thought was drowned out quickly by another: _No; we're going to be fine. _Harry was reassured by the second thought and continued to walk to the wall.

Harry and Ginny were just in front of the wall when Ginny squeezed his hand slightly and they both took off in a run. Harry's face lit up as they ran through the seemingly solid wall that separated the Muggle train station from the wizarding train platform.

The sight that Harry beheld was incredible. There were hundreds of people crowding around the platform; children on their way to Hogwarts, parents saying tearful good-byes to their children who would be going to Hogwarts for the first time, and the brothers and sisters of those students who would watch in envy, no doubt wishing they could be allowed to go.

The train that would take Harry and the others to Hogwarts was magnificent. It was a scarlet train, with large letters on the side of the train that marked it as the "HOGWARTS EXPRESS"; Harry had never seen a more majestic train in all his life.

Beside him, Ginny's face was a mask of sorrow. Her last brother would be going to Hogwarts this year, leaving her alone until he returned in the summer. Her only comfort was that it would only be one more year until she could go as well.

Harry squeezed her hand, "Don't worry. I'm sure a year will go by before you even know it." Even to Harry the words sounded feeble and hollow. He _wanted_ to get to know her now. He was more than happy to follow the advice from the letter he had received from himself.

Harry stood there for a moment, just gazing upon the train. At least, outwardly that is what he seemed to be doing. Inside he was having a debate with himself. He knew he should be getting on the train, making sure that he got a spot, but he really did not want to let go of Ginny's hand. She was the first person to ever take his hand, and the warmth and comfort he got from the feeling of her small hand in his was beyond his mind's comprehension.

She gave his hand another gentle squeeze, Harry's stomach fluttered as she did, as if understanding the debate that was raging in his mind and sympathised. Harry sighed deeply, "Well… I guess I'd better…" his sentence died on his lips.

"Yeah…" Ginny agreed. She didn't seem too keen to have him go either, but was resigned to the fact.

"I'll see you next year, then." Harry's attempt to make the situation seem better for her didn't exactly work, but it did seem to cheer her up slightly.

Ginny nodded, her eyes were suspiciously misty. Harry felt her pain, it constricted tightly in his chest. Now that he had her here, he did not want to go at all. She had similar sentiments, and it was with great reluctance and hesitation that Harry released her hand. "Bye," he said to her before stalking off toward the train and glancing back at her every few steps.

Ginny Weasley stood there for a moment, and watched Harry walk off toward the train. She felt something around him—something that pulled her to him. Then when they had touched hands—she didn't know _what_ had happened, but it was incredible. She was still tingling, from the tip of her head down to her toes, from the incident.

She felt nothing but goodness coming off of Harry. That was something she had always been able to feel; she could immediately tell if someone was a good person or bad. Bad people, mainly practitioners of Dark Magic, or people who sought to hurt or deceive others, gave her a very uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The darker or less trustworthy the person, the more she could feel it in her stomach. It would move about, slithering in the base of her stomach like some kind of untamed serpent. She had since learnt to trust these instincts; they had yet to lead her astray.

When she was in the presence of great goodness, she could feel a flutter in her stomach that lifted her up. Years ago, Albus Dumbledore—the greatest Headmaster that Hogwarts had ever known—had come to her home to speak to her mother and father. She had seen him as he came in, and immediately felt a very strong flutter in her stomach that made her trust the man; she knew that Albus Dumbledore was a man of the Light by reputation, but it appeared that he was by nature as well.

Since then, she had believed that the more powerful the wizard or witch, and the Lighter or Darker they were, the more strongly she could feel the flutter or slither.

But just now, when she had first seen Harry, she felt the pull more powerfully than she ever had before. She didn't know who he was at the time, but knew immediately that he was both very powerful, and very much a Light wizard.

When she first touched his hand, she felt her senses of good or evil increase two-fold.

Then, when he had told her his name, she immediately knew exactly why she felt it as strongly as she had. She was in the presence of the saviour of the wizarding world, the hero of the Light. Naturally, he would be incredibly powerful and extremely Light. What shocked her was he was only a year older than she herself was, and he was more powerful than Albus Dumbledore!

Ginny had a great deal more experience dealing with her ability to sense the magic of others. Growing up in a wizarding household, she could sense each member of her family and all of their various associates.

She had never really come into contact with many Dark wizards, so she had a great deal less experience in that area of her ability. She had met Lucius Malfoy once though, when she had accompanied her father to the Ministry of Magic for the day. Great darkness radiated from him.

She had tried to tell her parents before that she could sense these things, but they wrote it off as a little girl's imagination. But that didn't matter too much to her—her family constantly underestimated her. It was the bane of being the youngest and only girl. It was quite useful, actually. The fact that she knew she was right made things easier for her to handle.

She walked back to where her mother and brothers were standing; they had since crossed through the barrier that separated the Muggle world from the Magical. Her mother looked at her expectantly. "Who was that, dear?" questioned the Weasley matriarch.

"Harry," Ginny replied simply, "Harry Potter."

Ginny watched her family's reaction. Fred and George, the only members of the Weasley family who were twins, immediately perked up. Something like admiration was in their eyes, but it was accompanied by something that was often seen in their eyes: mischief.

Her brother Ron, the youngest boy in the Weasley family, looked sharply at her, as if expecting her to shout "April fool!" When she didn't, Ron looked curiously at her. "_The_ Harry Potter?" he queried.

Ginny nodded absently, and Ron's ears went red—always a sign of bad things to come. Ginny suspected that he was jealous that she had gotten to meet "The Famous Harry Potter" before he did.

Ginny looked at the only brother she had yet to gaze at for reaction. Percy was older than the twins, but younger than her other two brothers both of whom worked in foreign countries. Bill, the oldest of the Weasley sons, worked in Egypt as a Charm Breaker and Charlie, the second oldest, worked in Romania as a Dragon Keeper.

Percy's reaction was most different from the Ron and the twins'. Percy's eyes lit up with the familiar gleam of opportunity. Percy was easily the most ambitious Weasley. He was a prefect at Hogwarts who thought teachers were just below gods, and was the clear-cut choice for Head Boy of Hogwarts in two years when he became a seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ginny was used to seeing these reactions out of her brothers, they were the typical reactions. Ron often got jealous of other people, his ears flaming whenever it occurred. The twins always found a way to make mischief in any situation. Percy's never-lacking ambitiousness was legendary amongst the Weasley children, who teased him mercilessly about it. Ron had more than once commented that he thought Percy would sell out his own family if it helped his standing in the world.

What surprised Ginny Weasley the most was the reaction of her mother. Molly Weasley was a very motherly person, she had to be—she was the mother of seven children. She also had a legendary temper that, once started, seemed to reign on and on without fail. Then again, Ginny supposed, she had to have a temper to raise Fred and George and keep them in line. Not that she could, of course.

Molly Weasley immediately began to speak to herself. "I'd wondered why he was all by himself. The poor dear, he must be so lonely. He's got no one to look out for him. But Albus said he lived with his Muggle relatives… Surely they would have come with him?" Molly Weasley muttered to herself in a worried tone. "The poor dear must have been so frightened…"

It was not at all unusual for Molly Weasley to fuss. She did it so often that Ginny thought she had it down to an art form. But it was unusual for her to fuss quite so much, and about a boy she didn't even know. Ginny thought that it might have been because of who he was. They all owed something to "The Boy Who Lived" after all; but her mother was fussing in a fierce way—a way that was often reserved for her own children.

Ginny had never heard that Harry Potter lived with Muggles, but wasn't completely taken aback that her mother knew. Her mum and dad both seemed to know more about some aspects of the wizarding world than the rest of the population.

They never said how or why they knew, but Ginny suspected that Bill was perfectly aware of it. And if Bill knew, then Charlie probably did too. But that was likely as far as it went. Bill would share things with Charlie that he wouldn't share with any of the others, they were close, her two oldest brothers.

Molly Weasley continued to murmur softly to herself, and Ginny thought that she was unaware that anyone was listening in. Indeed, it appeared that Ginny was the only one paying attention, as Fred and George had both gone off to greet their friend Lee Jordan, and Ron seemed to be in a world of his own, staring off into space.

"Why wouldn't they've come along? Wouldn't they want to make sure he got to school alright?" Molly Weasley, the formidable eldest female Weasley, muttered to herself, as if trying to solve an intricate puzzle. "Does Albus know? I'll have to talk to Arthur about this…" Molly Weasley trailed off, her thoughts now firmly locked in her mind, instead of breaking free of her mouth.

Ginny looked at her mother for a moment. Albus Dumbledore had only ever been to her house once, that Ginny knew of, anyway. Though she wouldn't put it past her mother to have her and her brothers occupied while Ginny's mother and father had a conversation with the Headmaster. She suspected her mum would try to baby the whole lot of them well after they became adults.

Just then, the twins came back to her and her mother. They both wore mischievous grins that Ginny and her mother had both grown wary of. Molly Weasley's face held great suspicion, as did her tone, "What have you two done?"

"Oh, nothing—" one of the twins started.

"Mother, mine—" the other finished the phrase.

"We were just—" the first started again.

"Helping young Harry—" the second completed once more.

"Get his trunk—" the first said.

"On to the train." the second finished.

Molly Weasley was not convinced that they were telling her the whole truth. She was glad someone was helping the poor boy, but she thought there was more happening here than she was being told. Thusly, her face and voice both held suspicion. "What else did you two do?"

"Mother!" started on one of them.

"We're scandalised!" said the other.

"We would never—" the first began once more.

"Do anything—" number two said.

"To poor, ickle Harrykins!" they finished together.

When their mother continued to glare in suspicion, the twins confessed their crimes to their rather intimidating mother.

"We may have—" the first twin began.

"Accidentally, of course!" the second broke in.

"Yes, thank you, twin mine. As I was saying, we may have—" the first started once again.

"Corrupted him, slightly," confessed both of them at the same time, looking at their feet.

Just when it appeared Molly Weasley was going to start shouting, something that she was quite practised at, the train whistled, announcing its imminent departure. "Oh, get on the train then!" She gave the twins and Ron stifling hugs and kissed Percy, who still looked deep in thought, on the cheek.

Ginny's eyes began to water—she knew that she wouldn't be seeing her brothers until the Christmas holidays, or even until the summer holidays. Percy, seeing her distress, gave her a hug. "Be good," he told her.

"See you, Ginny," said Ron, as he hugged her once Percy had backed off.

"Don't worry, Ginny. We'll be back before you know it!" said one of the twins; she thought it might have been Fred.

"Yeah, Ginny," agreed who she thought was George. "We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!" George said this a bit too loud, because the next moment her mother was screaming at them.

"YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING, FRED WEASLEY!" her mother screeched at them.

"I'm not Fred, he is!" responded indignantly. His twin shook his head in an over-dramatised show of sadness. "Oh honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother!"

"I'm sorry, George," her mother shushed.

"Only joking," began the twin, "I _am_ Fred."

"Bye, Ginny." The twins leaned in on opposite sides of her face, as if to kiss both her cheeks. Then Ginny's deviant side showed. She quickly ducked her head. And the twins kissed.

Molly Weasley had to stifle a laugh, and Ron didn't even bother. He fell to the ground and began to giggle insanely. Percy looked on disapprovingly, shaking his head.

The twins pulled apart instantly. Fred looked accusingly at George. "Mate, I think you're right dashing, but there was no need for tongue!" And from there the two began to bicker back and forth about who had kissed who, and whether or not tongues were used.

Molly Weasley couldn't stifle her laughter and dissolved into giggles like Ron's. Ron began to pound the ground with his fists, and even Percy had to fight back a smile. Ginny, for her part, looked at her handiwork in self-admiration. She was the only one who ever managed to prank the two pranksters that she called her brothers.

Harry sat in an otherwise empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express and watched in with a mixture of amusement and envy as the family interacted with each other. The 'corruption' that Fred and George spoke of was simply their saying to Harry that they would see him on the train, and that they wished to speak to him about something. They wouldn't say what, but had simply grinned impishly.

When Ginny began to cry softly, Harry felt immediately bad for her. His friend was crying and there was nothing he could do about it. Harry didn't understand why, but he felt very close and protective of Ginny, even though they had met less than an hour from this moment.

Harry heard one of the twins promise to send her a Hogwarts toilet seat and thought the idea was brilliant. He had immediately begun to laugh deeply at the situation. Sending someone a toilet seat was probably the best idea Harry had ever heard—it was hilarious. Harry resolved then and there that if the twins were going to send her a toilet seat, he wanted in on it. And if they decided not to—well then Harry would do it by himself!

Harry continued to observe the family as the twins pretended to be the other. Harry thought this was great, he imagined it came quite in handy for pranks. He then watched as the two brothers tried to kiss Ginny on the cheek and ended up kissing each other. Harry roared with laughter and fell to the floor of the compartment, laughing hysterically.

Harry heard, even over his own laughter, the twins' argument over tongue. This caused him to burst into even more violent peals of laughter.

Just then, the train whistled once more and began to move. The family of red-heads outside of Harry's window began running toward the entrance to the train. Harry watched as the children all got on, except of course for Ginny. He opened his window more fully and stuck out his head.

The train was gaining speed, and Harry watched as Ginny Weasley, with tears in her eyes and laughter pouring out from her mouth, chased after the train. Harry reached out with his arm and waved good-bye to her. _Good-bye, Ginny_, Harry thought.

He could have sworn he heard her answer him. _Good-bye, Harry._

Harry sat in his compartment, thinking to himself. He was sorry for Ginny; she so obviously wanted to go to Hogwarts. Maybe if he sent her a letter, she wouldn't feel quite so bad? Nodding to himself, Harry came to a decision. He would ask one of the twins when they came by if he could send Ginny a letter. Harry didn't really know how to send a letter with an owl. He supposed it was simple enough, just giving it to the owl, but he didn't know if it _was_ that simple.

Maybe he was supposed to use magic to send make the owl know where to go? Was he, perhaps, supposed to write down the address? But could owls read? Harry shook his head. He had no idea. He resolved to ask the twins about that as well.

At that moment the compartment door opened. One of the red-headed boys from outside, Ron, entered the compartment and looked around. "Do you mind? It's just—everywhere else's is full."

"Oh, sure!" Harry said nervously. He didn't really know what to expect out of this boy. He seemed to come from a good family, and he hadn't seemed hostile or anything from what Harry had seen, but Harry still had limited experience with wizards. His stomach gave a fluttery feeling that Harry had experienced around both Hagrid and Griphook. It was stronger than both, but not half as strong as it was around Ginny.

"So…" Harry began, "You're Ginny's brother, right?" Harry figured it was best to start the conversation on grounds that he was familiar with. He may have met Ginny only that day, but he already felt as if he knew her well; he could certainly act around her as if she were someone he had known all his life.

Ron looked at Harry oddly for a moment. Harry thought he looked as if he were working something out in his mind. He seemed to shake himself slightly before responding. "Yeah," he began, "You met Ginny on the platform, right?"

Harry nodded, "She showed me how to get through the barrier." Harry couldn't see or feel the wide, goofy grin on his face, but Ron could see it plain as day.

Ron looked at Harry curiously for a moment. "Are," Ron hesitated, "are you really Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry nodded in the affirmative. Ron made a strange choking noise, to which Harry responded, "I thought Ginny told you? I could hear from here, you see."

Ron looked at him with a furrowed brow, seemingly more perplexed now than before, "Well, yeah, she did," the red-headed boy admitted, "But I wasn't sure if she was telling the truth. She kind of… well, we've all grown up hearing stories about you, see…" Ron looked very uncomfortable at the conversation, "And Ginny made Dad tell her the stories more than any of us…" Ron trailed off once more. "I wasn't sure if she didn't just make it up, or something," Ron finished, distinctly ruffled.

"Well, she was right. I'm Harry Potter," Harry said matter-of-factly, "Not that that matters, really. I don't know anything the rest of you don't…" Harry thought that people would expect him to be able to do great things, but really, he thought he was probably behind everyone else.

Ron looked taken aback for a moment, then began to speak in a slow, reluctant sort of way, "Have…" he stopped, "Have you really got—the…." he trailed off once more, before finishing dully, "scar?" He had spoken the last word, while pointing at the fringe of Harry's hair, roughly at the location of Harry's scar.

Ron noticed that Harry's face went blank for a moment, turning into an expressionless mask, before becoming back to normal. Harry pulled back his hair and showed Ron his scar with a slightly shaking hand.

Ron gaped. "Is that where You-Know-Who…" he trailed off once more, "Is that where _he_ did it?" Ron questioned, placing great emphasis on the word 'he.'

Harry nodded solemnly, "Yeah, I can't remember any of it, though. Just loads of green light, really." Harry could, if he strained his memory long enough, remember just that—a flash of green light, and then nothing. He didn't know for sure if that was from when his parents had died and Voldemort had attacked, but he couldn't think of what else it could be from. He used to think that it had been from the car crash his parents and he were in; but he had no idea what could cause so much green light.

Ron continued to gape at Harry for several moments, before pulling back sharply and pulling his head downward and stared at his twiddling thumbs. His ears had gone a tinge pink, and Harry knew this was a sign of embarrassment or anger. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.

Ginny walked back to the beat up old car that she and her family had arrived in, holding her mother's hand all the way. "Was that really Harry Potter?" Ginny's mum asked her. It seemed that she, like Ron, wasn't completely convinced.

Ginny nodded. "Yes, Mum." Ginny was a delicate shade of pink and had a blissful look on her face.

Molly Weasley chuckled quietly to herself. It looked like her daughter had developed a crush on young Mr. Potter.

The two Weasley women climbed into the old, turquoise Ford Anglia that they had arrived in. Ginny Weasley sat in the back while her mother drove.

While Molly Weasley performed the task of driving home in the old car, Ginny was quiet the entire trip. She had something most peculiar playing out in her head.

She could hear things. She could hear thoughts that weren't her own, and voices that were disembodied. Twice she heard voices that she couldn't discern, but the third time a voice spoke, she heard it all. "So, you're Ginny's brother, right?" asked the voice. _Harry's voice!_ she realised.

She felt a tingle in her stomach during the pause before the next phrase. No one ever called one of her brother's "Ginny's brother" before; she was always introduced as being "So-and-so's" little sister—never the other way around! It made her sound important, and it made her happy to have Harry be the first to say such a thing. It also made her blush brightly.

"Yeah, you met Ginny on the platform, right?" Ron's voice answered. _I must be going insane!_ Ginny thought. _It's not normal to hear voices like this in your head… is it?_

The conversation progressed, the two of them going back and forth, asking questions about the other's world. Then, Ginny saw through Harry's eyes as the compartment door slid open.

_Not this idiot again!_ Harry thought in despair.

"I'm Malfoy," said the pale, pointed-faced boy Harry had met in Madam Malkin's, "Draco Malfoy." Malfoy was flanked by two large boys that looked as if their collective IQ barely rivaled that of a quill. "This is Crabbe," the boy motioned to his left with his head, "and this is Goyle.

"There is a rumour on the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment," Malfoy glared at Harry, "You're him, are you?"

"I am he," said Harry as he adopted the cold tone he used when dealing with people like this Malfoy character. He would speak as little as possible, and with contempt in his voice.

Malfoy smirked and ignored the coldness of Harry's voice. "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter," Malfoy glared at Ron, "You wouldn't want to get mixed up with the wrong sort," Malfoy paused, "I can help you there." He extended his hand toward Harry.

"I know who the wrong sort are," Harry glared at Malfoy. His eyes then moved to Crabbe and finally Goyle, "I don't think I'll be needing your help." Harry glared Malfoy's hand down.

"You've made an enemy today, Potter," Malfoy threatened, taking his wand out.

"It's my good fortune that he is a harmless one then," Harry responded coolly, taking out his wand as well.

Inside, Harry was nervous. He had only ever made a spell work once, and that was an accident! Granted, he hadn't _tried_ to do any spells, but he didn't want his first attempt to be in a combat situation. Inside his head, Harry could hear a voice speaking, seemingly to him. _Bates Mocos, Harry! Bates Mocos! Just point your wand at his face and say it_!

Beside him, Ron had drawn his wand as well. He hoped Ron knew more spells than he did. Both boys had their wands held at eye level. Harry's was trained on Malfoy, and Ron's was drifting between Crabbe and Goyle.

_Bates Mocos!_ Harry said in his head, trying to get the pronunciation down in his head before he did something foolish. He was surprised when a jet of yellow light shot out of his wand and hit Malfoy in the face.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, the calm before the storm.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ shouted Ron, his wand pointed at Crabbe.

The spell itself did little, but the bumbling Crabbe made it work well enough. Crabbe was pushed backwards and tripped over his own feet, falling into the glass pane behind him.

Just then, Malfoy screamed. Large bats formed by crusty, snotty material began to crawl their way out of his nose. Once out of his nose, they began to claw at his face with their small, bogey claws.

Harry began to laugh loudly, while Ron watched in shock, and Malfoy started to scratch at his face in a clear attempt to remove the bogey-born bats from his pale, pointed face. Harry could hear a girl's voice giggling in his head.

As Harry laughed and Ron paled, with a screaming Malfoy to add to the cacophony of sound, the compartment door slid open once more. Harry, through the tears of his laughter, could see the twins—Fred and George—pointing their wands at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Get your friend—" the first twin said to both the fallen Crabbe and still-standing Goyle.

"And leave." commanded the second twin. The twins, while clearly trying to sound menacing, were grinning widely at the predicament.

Crabbe and Goyle grabbed their bogey-beaten friend, who continued to claw at his face to remove the creatures, and quickly scrambled out the compartment door. As soon as the compartment door slid shut, Fred and George lost all pretense of seriousness and broke down laughing.

After a moment of recovery, one of the twins spoke, "Which one of you hit him with the Bat-Bogey?"

Harry looked down at his feet when Ron spoke up, "Harry did! It was amazing, I never even heard him say anything!" Awe was in his voice, "I suppose you whispered it then, Harry? Catch him off guard?"

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable and shuffled his feet, "Yeah, didn't want him to know what I was doing," Harry lied quickly.

"Ginny would be proud, wouldn't she Fred?" asked one of the twins, presumably George.

"That she would be, brother mine," Fred responded dramatically, in a fond remembrance sort of tone.

"Er—why would Ginny be proud?" asked Harry, though he had an idea of the answer already.

"It's her favourite hex, that," exclaimed Fred, "I've been hit with that hex more times from her alone than all the others' hexes combined!"

"I must say, it is quite a change of pace to see someone else hit by it," George remarked. He motioned to his twin, "We get hit with it more than anyone else," he said, he had a fond sound in his voice, as if he was quite proud of Ginny's hexing ability, even if they were her intended targets.

"Ginny can do that spell?" asked Harry. The twins and Ron nodded, looking at Harry as if he'd grown a third head. "But how? She's not even been to Hogwarts yet. One of our schoolbooks said that you haven't even got enough magic in you to do spells until you turn eleven!"

"I've said it before, I'll say it again," George began, "Those books don't know what they're on about!"

"Ginny's been stealing Mum and Dad's wands and hexing the lot of us for years!" said George. "I still think Bill must have taught her the Bat-Bogey Hex, he's the sort to do that kind of thing. We've never even read a book that tells you how to do it!" George exclaimed.

"Yeah, Harry, how did _you_ know how to do it?" asked Ron curiously.

Harry looked around nervously. Then the same voice that told him the hex gave him an answer, _Tell them I told you how to do it on the platform!_

Harry was in trouble. He wasn't certain who the voice belonged to, he thought it might be Ginny, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself by saying the wrong name. Eventually, the stares of the Weasleys forced him to speak, "Er—Ginny told me it, when we were on the platform. She said to use it on you lot if you got out of hand." Harry made the last bit up, but was rewarded by a giggle from Ginny—for it was definitely Ginny's voice that was in his head, he would have been corrected if it weren't.

"Ginny told you that?" Fred exclaimed. "We've been bothering her for it for years, and she's never told us!" Fred, George, and Ron all wore astonished expressions.

"Er—yeah," Harry said with a weak smile

"You've got to show us, Harry!" demanded Ron. Fred and George nodded their heads fervently in a show of agreement.

_Oh no you don't, Harry—it's my secret weapon!_ Ginny told him. Harry couldn't help agreeing. It was Ginny's spell, and it wasn't his to teach to the very people who had experienced it the most: her brothers.

"I think you should ask Ginny…" Harry said to them, "She asked me not to tell you; and it is her spell, so I shouldn't really teach it to you…" Harry trailed off.

Fred and George gained something like respect in their eyes, and Ron began to whine. "C'mon Harry! We won't tell her that you told us!"

Harry shook his head, "She'd know. She trusted me with this; I don't want to betray her trust."

The respect in the eyes of Fred and George seemed to intensify, and Ron stopped whining and looked more than a little ashamed of himself.

"Okay Harry, that's fair," said George. Fred nodded, as did Ron.

George turned to Ron, "What did you do to them?" George's voice was expectant.

"I—er…" Ron mumbled something incoherent, his face bright red, and his ears threatening to adapt to the colour of his hair entirely.

"What was that, oh brother of mine?" asked Fred in a teasing voice, he seemed to know what had happened.

"I—I tried to use the… the Disarming Spell. Didn't work though…" said Ron miserably.

"What's the Disarming Spell?" asked Harry, trying to take the pressure off of Ron, but his own curiosity getting in the way of changing the subject entirely.

"Makes the other guy's wand fly out of his hand; don't worry, though, you don't learn it until second year," explained George.

"Oh…" Harry trailed off absently. It sounded like a useful enough spell; he'd have to ask Fred and George to show him how to do it sometime.

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts—well, Harry was in Ginny's, but the others were in their own. Suddenly, both Fred and George stood up. "We need to have a little talk with Harry for a moment," they exclaimed at the same time.

They each grabbed one of his arms, and the three exited the compartment. "I'll be back in a minute, Ron!" Harry shouted over his, and Fred's, shoulder.

The twins led Harry down the corridor of the train until they stopped at a compartment that was six down from the one Harry was sharing with Ron. The twins both grabbed the handle and, as one, the opened the sliding door.

_What do you suppose this is about, Ginny?_ Harry asked her mentally.

_I don't know… Maybe they're going to kidnap you or something?_ Ginny responded playfully. Harry had to stifle a laugh, but all thoughts went clean out of his head when the door opened.

The compartment was empty except for a black boy that looked to be about Fred and George's age. "Lee, we need to talk to Harry here," one of the twins said, addressing the boy, "Mind clearing out for a few minutes?"

"Not a problem," Lee said, "Harold Dingle's got himself a giant tarantula just down the way that I want to see, anyway."

The twins' eyes twinkled at the mention of this giant tarantula, but they quickly sat Harry down and waited for Lee to get up and leave. Which he did—after only a few seconds. The door had only just slid shut when the twins began to speak.

"Harry," one of the twins began, "We have a proposition for you." Both twins looked oddly serious; Harry was a little anxious.

"We know the world thinks of you as young, innocent Harry Potter," the second twin said to Harry. "We'd like to help you change that reputation a bit."

"You see, Harry, we are considered, in addition to being the best-looking guys in school, to be the resident pranksters of Hogwarts," the first twin said to Harry. Their expressions were still one of diligent solemnity.

"We were going to wait until Ickle Gin-Gin got to school to take on an apprentice," in Harry's mind, Ginny gasped; she knew what this was about.

Here the other twin cut him off, "To keep tradition going, you understand. We can't risk there being no pranksters at Hogwarts when we leave!"

The second twin began again, completely unperturbed by his twins added comments, "But we feel that you have the temperament for it. And since you get along so well with Gin-Gin, we figure she could join you in the sacred art of pranking when she gets to Hogwarts."

"See, Harry, my dear brother and I were looking through the detention records at Hogwarts, trying to see what the record for most in a year was, when we came across the all-time record. Here," he handed Harry a slip of parchment that had been in one of the twins' pockets.

Harry read:

_Most Detentions in a Single Term: James Potter, 1976._

_Most Detentions in a School Year: James Potter, 1976._

_Most Detentions in Seven Years: James Potter, 1970-1977_

"So, you see Harry, we just _had_ to take you on! Your dad's record is legendary! Pranking is in your blood, we have to show you the way!"

"So Harry, will you join us humble pranksters, and let us show you the way?" asked one of the twins, still with intense seriousness.

Harry burst out laughing. This was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever experienced in his life. Only these two could possibly make pranking such a formal event.

"Does this mean I get to help you send a toilet seat to Ginny?" Harry asked once he'd regained enough composure to do it.

The twins looked at each other. "We weren't actually going to send her a toilet seat, but it would make a good first attempt for young Harry here!" one of the twins said to the other.

"So you're in, then?" asked the twins at the same time.

Harry smiled, "I couldn't just let my Dad's record get broken by someone whose not a Potter, could I?"

The twins let out identical whoops of joy and high-fived each other. "You're not allowed to tell Ron, or anyone else for that matter, about this, okay? If word got out that we took on apprentices…" The twins looked nervous.

Harry smiled. Ginny already knew, of course. She was already running through ideas of the pranks they could pull together once they got to Hogwarts. "Okay, I won't tell anyone." This was true, of course, Ginny hadn't been told. She already knew.

Fred wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, "George, old boy, I think this is the proudest moment of my life! Well, there was that time Ginny Bat-Bogeyed Percy for telling Ron that we'd charmed his bacon to turn his hair purple…"

"Another good time, brother mine," agreed George, "But there will be more. Harry here already knows the Bat-Bogey…" George's face became more mischievous than was normal.

"We'd best be getting back, or Ickle-Ronniekins will send a search party after us. Come on, then, Harry."

The three exited the compartment and returned to the one Harry had been sitting in previously. He waved off Ron's questions of what the twins wanted, saying that they just wanted to congratulate him on his Bat-Bogeying skills.

Molly Weasley was concerned. Her daughter had sat in the back seat, silent except for a gasp, a few giggles, and a very self-satisfied smirk that she had worn quickly into the trip back to their home.

She found it very odd that her normally talkative daughter was so quiet. She was also concerned that the sounds she idid/i make were so very out of place. She hoped that it was just the crush she seemed to have developed on young Harry Potter that was causing her current state of oddness, and not some mental complication of having her last brother go off to Hogwarts.

Ginny, however, was not going insane, nor was her crush on Harry Potter the source of this current bout of peculiarity. True, young Harry Potter had something to do with it, but it was not any romantic feelings for him that had triggered her odd behaviour on this day.

When the Weasleys had arrived back home, Ginny had gone straight up to her room, and experienced, albeit second handedly, the day of Harry Potter. She listened in on his conversation with Ron after he had left the twins, who had since left the compartment that Harry and Ron occupied, saying that they wanted to go see Harold Dingle's tarantula. For them, this was perfectly normal behaviour.

When, earlier on that day when she was still in the car with her mother, Harry had performed the Bat-Bogey Hex on Draco Malfoy, she experienced both Harry's and her own enjoyment.

It was true that she used it frequently, and it was also true that she had never told any of her brothers how to do it. It was not true, however, that Bill had shown it to her. She had actually found it in one of her dead uncle's spell books.

She had found the book in the attic of her house and discovered that it contained a few spells that she thought would work wonderfully on her brothers, though most of the spells were very powerful, and very dangerous.

One of the spells, the Bat-Bogey Hex, sounded particularly funny to her, so she learned the word—sounding it out slowly as children so often do—and vowed to use it the next time one of her brothers teased her about something.

She had been a terror with it ever since.

Ron and Harry had been steadily working their way through a load of sweets that Harry had bought from an aging witch who pushed around a trolley full of candies.

Ron had only had a few corned beef sandwiches and was happy to partake in Harry's sweets, when Harry had offered.

_What's this, Ginny?_ Harry asked Ginny, nonverbally. He was holding a small box with the words "Chocolate Frog" on the front. Harry, however, did not see the bold lettering, as he was holding it upside down and looking at the reverse side.

_That, Harry, is a Chocolate Frog._ Ginny must have sensed his slight repulsion and shock because she quickly said _They're not_ actually _frogs, Harry. They're just charmed that way._

Harry immediately opened the small package. A frog hopped out and looked around for a moment. It continued jumping around for a few moments before makings its way to the window. In one giant leap that Harry would have thought impossible for its small legs to accomplish, it jump straight out of the compartments window—the result being that there was now a chocolate splat somewhere on the train tracks.

"Rotten luck, mate." said Ron absently. He was chewing intently on a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum while inspecting a Pumpkin Pasty. "Who'd you get?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously.

Ron, however, was busy looking under his seat for a fallen box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that he had dropped earlier and now wished to devour.

_He means the wizard on the card that's inside the box, Harry_, Ginny informed him.

_Card?_

_Yeah, there's a card inside the box. _Harry did nothing and just sat there, staring at a spot on the wall for a moment. _Well! Come on! Let's see what you got!_

Harry laughed to himself and thrust a finger inside of the box. He pulled out a card with a picture of an old man with a long white beard and wearing a purple robe. The man in the picture winked at Harry, stepped to the side, and was gone.

_He's gone!_ Harry exclaimed silently.

_Yes, Harry, they do that from time to time, _Ginny laughed.

"So _this_ is Dumbledore!" Harry exclaimed both mentally, for Ginny, and verbally, for Ron.

"You've never heard of Dumbledore?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, yes I've heard of him, of course! I just didn't know what he looked like," Harry explained to Ron.

Harry looked down at the Chocolate Frog in his hand and read:

**Albus Dumbledore**

Hogwarts Headmaster

**C**onsidered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

None of this meant much to Harry, he didn't know who Grindelwald was, nor did he know the twelve use of dragon's blood, and he certainly didn't know had never heard of Nicolas Flamel.

Just then, the door to their compartment opened once more. A girl with bushy hair and large front teeth stood before them. She had, at her side, a round-faced boy who seemed to have just finished crying.

"Have either of you seen a toad?" asked the girl in a bossy sort of voice. "Neville here," she waved a hand at the boy beside her, "Has lost one."

When both Harry and Ron shook their heads, the girl began to speak again, "Oh well—"

Her sentence was cut short. She was staring at Harry's forehead. Evidently, during his head-shaking, his hair had moved enough that now his scar was openly revealed.

"You—you're Harry Potter!" the girl exclaimed excitedly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I am."

The girl seemed to shake herself momentarily. "I'm Hermione Granger," she extended her hand. Harry, who had no real reason to dislike or distrust this girl as he had Malfoy, shook her hand.

Hermione turned toward Ron. The two gazed at each other for a moment before Ron offered her his hand. "I'm Ron," he started, "Ron Weasley."

She took his proffered hand. "Pleasure," Hermione stated simply.

Ron gazed at her for a moment longer before pulling out his wand and addressing Harry. "Fred gave me a spell to turn Scabbers yellow, want to see?" It was plain to Harry that he was trying to impress the girl, Hermione, with his magic use. Harry was observant in these ways, but didn't think Ron knew that he was doing it.

_Who's Scabbers?_ Harry asked Ginny. He wasn't sure if it was something Ron had already mentioned, but had said while Harry was speaking with Ginny, so he wanted to be sure whether or not to ask.

_Scabbers is Ron's rat,_ she informed him.

"Yeah!" Harry replied to Ron's question with enthusiasm, albeit slightly feigned. He didn't think that poor Scabbers deserved to be turned yellow.

Ron cleared his throat and pulled himself up to his highest height. Even though he was sitting, Ron was a few inches taller than Harry was when he sat as well. Harry supposed his smallness had something to do with living in a cupboard and only being fed scraps from the table for the last ten years.

Ron pulled a plump rat out of his pocket. "_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow._" he jabbed his wand at the rat. Nothing happened.

"Er—Ron, are you sure that's a real spell?" Harry asked, trying desperately not to laugh at the dumbfounded expression on his face. "I think Fred was having you on, mate."

Neville grunted slightly, Hermione jumped. "Oh Neville, I'm so sorry!" she looked at Harry and Ron, "We've got to go! I've completely forgotten about his poor toad!" She leapt to her feet and made for the door.

She had her hand on the handle when she turned around, "You should get into your robes; I suspect we'll be arriving in just a moment."

She left.

And as she did, the train began to slow.

"I think we're at the station. She's right, you know. We should get changed." Harry said to Ron.

_If you'd find something else to do for a moment, Ginny…._

**A/N:** _Well. There it is. This is the chapter that gets things going, really. Or… Well, I guess the argument could be made this is the chapter that gets going the chapter that gets things going. I'll have another one for you in a week. I hope you've enjoyed yourself._


	9. Chapter 9: Toilet Seats

**Chapter Nine**

**Sortings, Barriers, and Toilet Seats**

Harry followed Ron out of their compartment and the two tried to make their way through the swarm of students toward the door that would let them off of the train. Behind them, they could hear loud voices. "Oy! Let us through! Come on, move over a bit!"

Harry and Ron both turned toward the source of the noise to see Fred and George Weasley making their way through the crowd, their friend Lee Jordan in tow. After a sufficient amount of pushing and shoulder-lowering, the twins had made it to where Harry and Ron stood.

"Just follow behind us, Ickle Firsties," said one of the twins. "We'll get you through, shan't we Gred?"

"Why yes, Forge, I do believe we shall," agreed his twin.

The twins lowered their shoulders, and began to ram through the group of students. Lee Jordan, who was following ahead of Harry and Ron, was shaking his head and laughing. After a few moments, the five had made their way to the door.

"You two," Gred said, indicating Harry and Ron, "Go with Hagrid. Trust me when I say he's easy to spot." Forge chuckled and nodded his head in agreement with his twin's words.

Harry laughed. He knew, of course, that Hagrid really was quite easy to spot, what with having gone to Diagon Alley with him, and all. Ron must have been familiar with Hagrid as well, because he didn't ask who he was.

Fred, George, and Lee stepped through the door and off of the train with Harry and Ron following in their wake. The platform that they stood on, from what Harry could make out in the darkness of the night, looked very much like platform nine and three-quarters, though it was a bit smaller.

Standing in the centre of the platform, stood the gargantuan form of Hagrid, lit lantern in hand. "Firs' years over 'ere! Firs' years ter me! Come on, any more firs' years? Don' be shy! Firs' years over 'ere!" The giant had to bellow over the loud crowd, with a small gathering of students who all seemed to be cowering in fear before him.

Harry and Ron were making their way through the swarm of students toward Hagrid, when one of the twins shouted to them, "We'll save you a seat at the Gryffindor table!"

Ginny had told him all about the four houses on the train, and Harry hoped that he got into Gryffindor. Apparently it was the house that all of Ginny's family had gotten into, and that she hoped to get into as well. This was more than enough to sell him on the idea, having been informed that Dumbledore had once been in Gryffindor as well just added to his hopefulness.

Harry shouted back, "What if we don't make Gryffindor?" Harry was anxious to enter that particular house, but thought that his luck would prevent it. The only house he was really against entering was Slytherin. Ginny had told him that she had heard that Voldemort himself was in Slytherin when he had gone to Hogwarts.

Fred and George looked stricken.

Harry and Ron turned their backs to Fred and George and simultaneously made their way toward Hagrid.

"Hagrid!" Harry shouted, waving.

Hagrid looked down from his shouting. "Hello, Harry!" he said with a large smile, though his beard prevented them from really seeing it properly.

"Firs' years, follow me!" he shouted once more, before walking down a steep, narrow path. The first years followed, slipping and sliding on the wet ground as they did. The complete darkness along the path that they trod upon suggested that they were flanked by trees on both sides, though Harry couldn't see well enough to know for sure.

They walked in relative silence. The only sound that was heard was of their feet on the pathway, and the occasional sniffle from the toadless boy, Neville.

"Yeh'll see Hogwarts in jus' a bit," Hagrid called over his shoulder. "It's jus' 'round this bend here." Hagrid kept walking, the first years trailing behind.

Suddenly, the people at the front of the group of first years let out a loud "Oooooh!"

The sight that met Harry's eyes when he saw the castle was magnificent. Indeed, he said as much to Ginny. i_It's incredible, Ginny!_/i

Harry dimly heard Ginny respond something that sounded like i_Wow_!/i She apparently was having difficulty expressing her awe at the sight. Harry was a bit more articulate, but he was still doing a more than credible impression of a goldfish.

Perched atop a large mountain that towered over the students across a huge black lake was a vast castle whose many towers and turrets were silhouetted against the starry, night sky. "Yeh, that's it, all righ'," Hagrid confirmed. "Beau'iful sight, innit?"

Most of the assembled group mumbled their agreement, but a sizable chunk couldn't form words just yet.

"A'right, all o' yeh get inter a boat," Hagrid said in his booming voice, his finger pointed at the base of the lake where a fleet of small boats sat in the black water. Harry wasn't the only one who hadn't noticed the existence of these boats, because half of the group gave small, surprised sounds that were indiscernible as actual words.

"No more 'an four ter a boat, now."

Harry and Ron scrambled into one of the small boats, with Hermione and Neville trailing behind them.

Looking around, Hagrid shouted to the assembled students, "Alrigh' then, everybody in?" Seeing that everyone was indeed in their boats, four to each, Hagrid bellowed, "Alright, then—FORWARD!"

The boats obeyed his command, and as one they began gliding across the glassy, black lake. Hagrid, who had a boat to himself as he was much larger than any of the students, led the way across the lake. They were headed in the direction of Hogwarts, which they all stared at in awed silence.

Closer and closer they inched across the lake, getting nearer to the cliff that the great castle of Hogwarts stood upon. For a few minutes they sailed, all watching in wonder as the castle grew larger in their view.

i_I can't wait until you get here, Gin,_ /i Harry said. It was the first time he had called her Gin and when he did, he could feel a chill go up his spine, though he knew it had to have been her who had experienced it firsthand, as he had no reason to feel that way.

i_Me neither, Harry. I wish I was there…_/i she trailed off in a downcast tone.

i_In a way you are here, Gin_,/i Harry said, noting the chill in her spine for the second time, i_I mean, you're in my head. So you're with me everywhere I go._/i Now it was Harry's turn to feel the shiver. Not only did he have a friend, but he had a friend who wouldn't leave him. She was here with him, in spirit if not in physicality.

i_Of course I'm here, Harry. I'm not going anywhere_./i Evidently, Ginny had caught his thought. Her reassurance made Harry feel better, but it was true. He had never expected to have a friend. Not with the way he had grown up. He had resigned himself to the fact that he would be hated and bullied everywhere he went. He had hoped that he would be liked and accepted here at Hogwarts, but he really didn't think that his hope was terribly realistic.

While he was thinking about his home life, it became clear quite quickly that Ginny had caught on. i_How could they do that to you, Harry?_/i she raged in his head. Harry felt another sensation in the pit of his stomach; here was someone who cared for him. This was something he had yearned for all his life, and now he was receiving it from someone who he had met only that morning.

i_Of course I care about you, Harry. It doesn't matter if you've known me five minutes or your entire life. You_ /idoi _have someone who cares for you. And I am her_,/i Ginny said forcefully.

i_Thank you, Gin. That means a lot to me_,/i Harry thanked her, truly grateful that she cared about him—that isomeone/i cared about him. He wasn't completely convinced of her truthfulness, but he hoped she wasn't lying to him. Desperately he was hoping she wasn't lying to him.

"Harry!" Ron said to Harry, effectively throwing Harry out of his, rather morose, musings, "You alright, mate? You're a bit quiet."

"Yeah," Harry responded, "I'm alright. Just thinking, I guess." Which was true; what he didn't add was that he was thinking with the inquisitor's little, baby (Ginny had told him that she despised being called that) sister.

Ron seemed to accept this answer, for he did not question Harry further.

"HEADS DOWN!" Hagrid bellowed as they reached the base of the cliff that Hogwarts stood on. It was immediately obvious why he had ordered that they all bow their heads; there was a large mass of green ivy that hung down from the side of the cliff, and behind this curtain of ivy was a large opening into a large, dark underground cavern that seemed to take them into the heart of the large cliff. Harry was reminded of a story he had once read in school of a secret society that lived behind a waterfall. This was slightly different, but Harry had no doubts that something just as magnificent and secret as was behind the waterfall in the book, as was behind this ivy and beyond the tunnel they were now floating along in.

The boats, thankfully, seemed to know their way through this tunnel, despite the absolute darkness that filled the entire cavern. i_Kind of spooky, isn't it?_/i Harry said to Ginny.

Harry felt Ginny give something of a nod, even though he couldn't actually see her actually perform the cranial act. They continued along through the cavern for a few minutes, before Harry saw a large wall that looked to be made of water standing upright ahead of them. Despite the lack of light, it gleamed clear and true to Harry with an unreal, ethereal light.

"Ron," Harry asked him, "What do you suppose that is?" Harry pointed toward the water-barrier, even though he knew that it was pointless to do so. He couldn't see his hand, so he could safely assume Ron couldn't either.

"What?" Ron asked, and Harry felt displaced air that suggested Ron had brought his hand to his brow in an attempt to see what it was that Harry had mentioned. "I don't see anything, Harry."

"But," Harry started, "It's all so clear. It's all lit up—you're saying you can't see it?" He was puzzled, it didn't matter how dark it was in the cavern; the wall was light up. Though it cast off no light, it was illuminated. All things around it continued to be hidden in darkness, but this wall shone brightly with no obvious source of the light. Harry had to remind himself that there didn't have to be light bulbs; this was i_magic_/i after all.

i_Do you see it, Ginny?_/i Harry asked her, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't hallucinating.

iYes_, I see it. It's so bright; how can Ron _/inoti _see it?_/i she responded. Harry sighed in relief. So he i_wasn't_/i hallucinating.

He nudged Ron again, "Are you sure you don't see anything? It's just up ahead, we're about to hit it."

"Harry, I don't see it, alright? Maybe you're just tired, mate," Ron suggested. "I'm knackered, anyway."

Harry sighed in frustration. He turned in the small wooden plank that he and Ron were sitting on. "Hermione, do you see it?" he asked. "It's big, shiny; looks like it's made of upright water?"

"I don't see anything. Maybe you are just tired?" she said in a hopeful manner. i_Probably hoping I'm not insane; how good of her/_i he thought in sarcastic bitterness.

Ginny, for her part, chuckled at what Harry had said. Well, what he had thought really, but that was hardly the point.

They were very close to the wall now, and Harry was beginning to worry. Why was it that he and Ginny, who wasn't even i_there_/i, could see it, but everyone else couldn't? If they got much closer, they would hit it. Harry grabbed the sides of the bench he was sitting on, bracing himself for the inevitable impact of hitting the wall. He also pulled his cloak tightly around himself, wanting to spare his skin the cold of the watery substance.

Harry watched as the wall came closer and closer. He was within a foot of it. He could reach out his hand and feel the wall. He sat there, and passed through this wall of curious substance. He didn't feel cold, nor did his boat crash upon hitting the wall. He did, however, feel a most wondrous sensation in his stomach. It was a very curious feeling, and Harry thought it was probably something to do with the feeling he got whenever he was around Ginny, Hagrid, Griphook, or any of the students he was with.

Indeed, he could feel it now, where he was. Ron, next to him, exerted this energy in copious amounts. It was not in the same fashion of strength as when Harry had met Ginny, but it was stronger than both Hagrid and Griphook.

Harry wasn't sure who else he was feeling, it was either Hermione or the toadless Neville, but it was also a strong feeling. It was roughly as strong as Ron's, though perhaps half of what he felt around Ginny; perhaps less.

"Did you feel it, Ron?" Harry asked, though at this point he was pretty sure he was the only one who saw the wall or felt it when they passed through.

"Feel what, Harry?" Ron asked inquisitively.

Harry sighed. "Nothing, Ron." Harry was resigned. He was the only one who felt it; if Ron hadn't, there was little hope that anyone else had.

i_Did you felt it, Gin?_/i Harry asked, hoping he didn't sound quite as desperate as he felt. He figured that she probably had, but wanted to make sure. He didn't want to be the only one.

i_Yeah, I felt it. I wonder why the others didn't, though,_/i Ginny said to him through their linked minds.

i_I'm going to ask Hagrid, if I get a chance, tomorrow_,/i Harry informed her.

They continued through the tunnel for a few more minutes, before they came upon an underground harbor. The boats sailed themselves right into a gravelly sort of beach that was covered in rocks and pebbles.

Hagrid, who was helping people out of their boats, reached into a boat and pulled something out. He held it up, where the torches that adorned the walls gave off the most light. "Did someone lose a toad?" he asked curiously.

"Trevor!" Neville cried blissfully as Hagrid handed him the toad.

Harry heard Malfoy, who was just behind him and Ron, snigger. "A toad?" he sneered, "If I had a toad I would i_try_/i to lose it!"

Several people around him, including Crabbe and Goyle, guffawed loudly.

"Malfoy," Harry turned around and said to him, "Unless you want a repeat of what happened on the train, you should be quiet about other peoples' things."

The people around Malfoy all gasped at the audacity of someone threatening a Malfoy, while Crabbe, Goyle, and the ponce himself paled considerably. "You'll get your, Potter," Malfoy assured in a menacing way, despite the fact that he was shaking from the fear of another go with Harry's, or rather Ginny's, Bat-Bogey Hex.

Then the murmuring began.

"Potter, did he say?"

"i_The_/i Potter, you reckon?"

"So it's true!"

"i_Harry_/i Potter?"

The commotion was so complete, that no one noticed that Hagrid had walked up a small path that led to a large, oaken door. He grabbed a cast-iron knocker, and with a great booming sound, knocked three times on the large, oak door.

The door swung open immediately. Hagrid hadn't even taken his hand off the large knocker when the door opened. A woman stood there in emerald green robes. She was tall, and her black hair was tied into a tight bun. Her face was stern, and Harry knew without being told that this was not someone to cross.

i_You've got that right, Harry. That's Professor McGonagall, she's caught Fred and George more times than all of the other teachers combined!_/i Ginny informed him in a tone suggesting something like awe.

"The firs' years for yeh, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said to the prankster catcher extraordinaire.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them to the Hall now." She spoke with a slight Scottish brogue and in a serious, no nonsense manner.

She turned her back on the students and opened the enormous, oaken door. If the door was huge, the entrance hall itself was colossal beyond recognition. Every car the Dursleys had ever owned as well as their home and the Dursleys themselves along with all of their possessions could easily fit inside of this enormous room.

The walls all along the room were adorned with large, flaming torches similar to the ones that lined the walls of Gringotts when Harry had gone with Hagrid a month previous. The ceiling seemed to stretch on forever; Harry could not see where it might end. The entirety of the ceiling, and indeed the entire upper level of the room, was shrouded in darkness and shadow. Before them was a large, marble staircase that must have led up higher, for Harry could not see where it ended either.

Professor McGonagall led the intimidated first years across the stone floor. From a door to their right, the sound of hundreds of loud voices could be heard. Harry supposed that the rest of the school, the non-first years, were waiting for them beyond that door. Professor McGonagall led them into a small room off the hall.

The nervous first years all crowded together in the small room. There were a few mutterings of "Get off of my foot!" but the room was otherwise silent. Harry was standing behind Ron, who was standing next to Hermione, and Neville was behind her. Ron and Hermione seemed to be very fidgety, and they both tried to inch away from each other, their close proximity evidently making them feel self-conscious and nervous.

"Hello," Professor McGonagall began, peering at them, "and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The start-of-term feast will begin momentarily, but first you must all partake in an important ceremony that has existed for as long as Hogwarts itself. The Sorting Ceremony is very important. It will determine who you will be spending the next seven years with. You will take classes with your house, you will sleep in a dormitory with your house, and you will be spending your free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are thus: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Each has produced extremely talented wizards and witches; each has its own noble history; and each of them are worthy of your absolute respect.

"Whilst you are here at Hogwarts, you will earn and lose points. Rule-breaking will lead to the latter, and your triumphs will assure the former. A great honour, the house cup, is bestowed upon the house that has gained the most points during the school-year. Each of you, I am sure, shall be a credit to your house, and I greatly hope that you will contribute your name to the list of outstanding witches and wizards who have passed through these halls." Her eyes fluttered past them all as she spoke, even Harry, who was having a great deal of difficulty seeing because of Ron's height, had had eye contact made by the Professor.

"The Sorting Ceremony will occur in the Great Hall, through this door," she indicated the door that would lead them back into the entrance hall and the place that would hold their, in Harry's case, impending doom. "I suggest you all take this opportunity to make yourself most presentable," her eyes rested on Neville's cloak, which was half-undone with one of his fastenings dangling from where he had presumably tried to force it on, and then on Ron's nose, which was smudged in dirt.

Harry, in a fit of self-consciousness, tried to flatten his hair, but it was in vain. It was always this stubborn, absolutely untamable.

"When they are ready for you in the Hall, I shall return," Professor McGonagall said to the amassed group, "Wait quietly until such a time."

She turned on her heel, and strode out the door.

As soon as the door had shut behind her, students began to talk loudly, trying to be heard over the other students.

"Sorting? They're testing us already?" one girl with blond hair said.

"But we haven't had a single class yet!" protested Hermione Granger.

Neville just whimpered; dreading the test that would be put before them.

"Fred told me that we have to wrestle a troll," Ron informed the group. He was rather green, and seemed to be shaking slightly. "I thought he was kidding, but…" Ron didn't seem quite so convinced now.

i_Don't worry, Harry. Bill told me that what you have to do isn't hard, and it isn't dangerous. Everyone's just overreacting_./i Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed to do right now was make a fool of himself by trying to wrestle a troll. And in front of the whole school, too!

"Ron," Harry started, "I don't think they'd make us do anything quite so… dangerous." He said this for as much for Ron's benefit as all the ones around them who were looking nervous and frightened at the prospect of troll wrestling.

Ron didn't look entirely convinced, though he seemed hopeful. Hermione seemed to be ready to break down. "i_Hogwarts, A History_/i didn't say anything about the Sorting. It just mentioned that there was one, and that the section can only be read after you've experienced it!"

i_Er… Ginny? Did Bill happen to mention /iwhati, exactly, we're supposed to do?/i_ Harry asked Ginny, hoping that Bill had told her something to help him prepare for the task at hand. He wanted to have all the edge on the competition he could. If getting into Gryffindor meant he had to make use of knowledge that others didn't have, well… So be it.

i_No…/i_ Ginny informed him, sub-vocally. i_He said that if he told me that he would be ruining the experience for me./i_ Ginny didn't seem too happy with that, evidently agreeing with Harry's desire to have the upper-hand in whatever situation the Sorting got him into.

Harry sighed. He would be going into his first test in the wizarding world blindly. His only comfort was that he was on a level footing with everyone else—except, perhaps, Malfoy; he seemed entirely too smug, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen and was completely confident. Seeing as he came from a wizarding family who, if Malfoy's personality was any indicator, would want Malfoy to have the upper-hand, they would tell him so that he knew exactly how to pass whatever test lay before them.

The students were all wound up enough as it was, but then something happened that wiped even Malfoy's smug look off of his face. A dozen or so slivery spectres had just floated i_right through/i_ the solid wall opposite from the door.

Everyone in the room gave either a shrill shriek, or gasped loudly. Much to Harry's preoccupied amusement, Draco Malfoy was one of the students who gave a high-pitched shriek.

The ghosts were of a pearly-white colour and were transparent enough to recognise that something was behind them, though the details were lost on lookers-on. They didn't seem to notice the first years as they glided by, as two ghosts were arguing about something that was not immediately obvious.

"I say we give him another chance! Forgive and forget, you know. He's one of us, and he deserves a second chance." The speaker was a ghostly monk, with several chins that would have made Uncle Vernon jealous. He, however, had a much more pleasant disposition than Uncle Vernon, and seemed to be quite jolly and care-free, if not a little zealous about whom ever it was he was that he was advocating for.

"My dear man, we've i_given/i_ Peeves a second chance. And a third. A fourth. Several fifths. And more than one sixth! He has proven again and again that he is incapable of controlling—hello! What are all of you doing here?" The ghost that spoke wore a ruff and tights. He seemed friendly enough, if not a little agitated by the fat monk's evident passion over the matter of this 'Peeves' character.

Suddenly, the door that Professor McGonagall had left through swung open once more. The stern-looking professor's form was visible. "They are ready for you." It was a simple statement, but it made most of the group of students whimper or groan slightly in a way that had nothing to do with the ghosts in the room.

The anticipation was what was worst, Harry decided. He would face whatever it was that he had to, but he wanted to know i_what_/i he was facing to start with.

"Form a line," she commanded them sternly, "and follow me."

"Oh! The Sorting!" exclaimed the fat monk, his excitement obvious. "Hope to see you all in my house—Hufflepuff, you know!" The monk chuckled as he said this to the students' backs; they were following in a line just as Professor McGonagall had ordered and it was apparent that more than one of them was not far off from turning into human hosepipes in their robes.

Harry's legs felt leaden, but he somehow managed to trudge them along, though he was fairly certain that he would, at some point, forget to lift his foot as he walked. i_Oh stop being so dramatic, Harry! You'll be fine! You probably just have to do a spell or something_,/i Ginny consoled him.

Harry paled. Was that supposed to make him feel better? He had to do magic? All ready? And in front of the entire school? Now he was feeling positively faint. He had pulled off magic twice, but he wasn't very confident in his abilities whilst by himself, let alone when he was in front of a large group of people with scrutinising eyes.

And they probably expected i_more_/i of him! Sweet Merlin (he had caught the phrase from Ron, and it just seemed to fit, what with Harry's being in the magical world, and all)! Their expectations were bound to be higher, he was the "Boy Who Lived," after all! They probably expected him to vanquish another Dark Lord! And he didn't even remember doing it the first time; what did they expect i_this_/i time?

i_Stop worrying so much, you silly boy! Everything will be fine! Once you get your letter from Hogwarts, they can't very well send you away because you made some mad Sorting Ceremony go wrong! Besides, I've never even heard of someone being sent back because of the Sorting Ceremony—and Gred and Forge have the most wonderful stories!_/i Ginny calmed Harry greatly with her, though unspoken, words. Ron had mentioned on the train that loads of kids come from Muggle families, so Harry wasn't so very far behind from i_everyone/i_ was he?

Harry, though he was barely aware of it, followed his class mates in the line as he was instructed. They had entered the enormous entrance hall once again, and stood before a set of majestic, double-doors. These doors were very tall, reaching up just below the shadow line, beyond which Harry could see nothing. They were made of solid, finely polished wood with iron strips across the door; Harry supposed it was as some sort of defence mechanism that would make the door lock, though Harry had no idea how they would manage that.

i_Harry? Magic, remember?_/i Ginny's voice reminded him with a giggle. Harry grinned despite himself. After growing up in a place where imagination was banned, incorporating magical possibilities into the equation of things was quite a leap of the mind for Harry. He sincerely hoped he got used to magical thinking eventually.

The great doors opened, without aid from any of the people that stood before them, and Professor McGonagall led the first years through them. Harry had never imagined that any place could be so magnificent yet bizarre all at once. The room they entered was lit up by thousands of burning candles that were floating high above four long tables where, it seemed, the entire school was sitting. Upon the tables, thousands of scintillating golden plates and matching goblets sat empty and unfilled.

At the end of the hall, opposite from the doors they had entered through, was a fifth long table that was spread out horizontally, facing the rest of the school, where many adult witches and wizards were sitting. Harry supposed that this was the teachers' table. At the very centre of the long, horizontally faced table, there was a golden chair. Sitting in it was a man that Harry recognised from his Chocolate Frog card. Albus Dumbledore sat before him.

Professor McGonagall led them up just before the teachers, turning them around to face the rest of the school, with their backs to their teachers. All of the students fidgeted nervously under the gaze of the hundreds of students, whose faces seemed very pale and frightening in the enchanted candlelight.

Randomly dotted amongst the students were the silvery ghosts. They served to add to the menacing sight of the students; the light that they cast upon their surroundings was chilling and ethereal. Harry saw the ruff-and-tights ghost that had wandered in to the small room that they had occupied previously that night sitting next to one of Ginny's brothers; Percy, he thought his name was.

i_Yeah, that's Percy, all right_,/i Ginny informed him. i_Don't let him lecture you too much, Harry, because if you let him start…_/i she trailed off, i_Fred and George played a prank on him that glued his mouth shut, and he still managed to lecture about it through his clenched teeth._/i This was sufficient explanation for Harry.

Harry looked up above his head, trying to find something that he could look at without his eyes wandering to the students and spectres, and felt his jaw drop. The ceiling was nothing like Harry had ever seen in a room before. In fact, it didn't seem to be a ceiling at all. The room he had last entered had a ceiling that could not be seen, and Harry was astounded that it stretched so high; but this ceiling—this ceiling put all others to shame.

The sky was above him. The dark night, with its twinkling stars, was looking down at him. Harry was completely awed by the sight. It was magnificent. He began to wonder whether all wizarding places, other than Diagon Alley, had a room whose ceiling was actually the sky. "I read in _iHogwarts, A History/i _that the founders of Hogwarts bewitched it to look like the sky outside. It's magnificent, isn't it?" Hermione had evidently noticed his upward gaze. She was looking at it with an expression similar to Harry's, though hers was less surprised than Harry's, as she had read about it already.

Harry could do little more than nod dumbly at her question. It i_was_/i magnificent. He resolved himself to finding out how the founder of Hogwarts, who ever they were, had managed it.

So busy was Harry gazing up at the sky above him, he didn't notice Professor McGonagall bring a four-legged stool before the first years, silently. He did, however, look down when the sound of confused students began to reach his ears.

Sitting upon the four-legged stool was a wizard's hat. It looked very old, and was quite battered, as though it had seen battle. There were several patches and rips up and down the length of it. Harry was quite sure that Aunt Petunia, Harry missed Ginny's surge of anger when he thought his aunt's name, would die before letting it into her house. Harry also missed Ginny's wistful mental sigh at the sound of a dead Aunt Petunia.

As so often happens to those who are both nervous and excited, the silliest of thoughts began to filtre into Harry's mind. i_Maybe we're supposed to pull a rabbit out of the hat?_i He had seen, once, a magician on Dudley's television who had pulled a rabbit out of a long top hat. Dudley had spent the next few days running around trying to pull rabbits out of hats and had switched to socks when that failed.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had locked Harry in his cupboard for a week after Dudley's rabbit-out-of-the-hat incident. Harry didn't understand why they were so angry with i_him_/i when he had nothing to do with it, but he understood now. It was too much association with all things freakish.

Everyone in the hall, teachers, students, and ghosts included, was staring at the hat. There was anticipation in the air, though Harry had no idea why; it just looked like an old hat to him. Therefore, he was quite shocked when one of the rips on the hat opened, and from the rip came a singing voice:

i_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_/i

Every occupant of the hall, both human and spirit, broke into loud applause. Harry, who was still a bit shocked that he hat could speak, clapped along with them in enthusiasm. It really was quite a sight, seeing a hat sing such a song.

The singing hat bowed as deeply as a hat could to each of the four house tables before becoming completely still, as still as it had been when Harry thought it to be a simple old hat, once more.

"We've only got to try it on? I'm going to i_murder_/i Fred!" Ron exclaimed in an undertone, "Going on about troll-wrestling! I'm going to kill him!" Ron said once again, though louder this time—loud enough for the girl beside him to hear, anyway.

"Ron! You mustn't make threats about things like that!" admonished the bushy-haired Hermione Granger.

Ron drew himself up, "Oh get out of it, would you?" he said in irritation. And from there things progressed into a full-on bickering match. They did not know it at the time, but this would mark the beginning of a trend that would hold for the rest of their lives.

Professor McGonagall, after shooting Ron and Hermione both stern glares that made Ron pale considerably so that his freckles stood stark against his skin and that made Hermione tear up slightly, stepped in front of the amassed students, a large scroll in hand.

"When I call your name, you will sit upon the stool and put on the Sorting Hat so that you may be sorted into your future house.

"Abbot, Hannah!" she shouted. As she did, a blonde haired girl with pigtails and a pink face took a shaky step out of the line that the first years still stood in. After a few more frightened steps, she sat on the stool and placed the hat on her head. It fell down below her eyes so that only Hannah's mouth and the bottom of her nose were visible. After a moment—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat roared. All of the houses clapped, though some seemed pained to do so. The table on the right clapped loudest, giving shouts of joy as they did. Professor McGonagall pointed to the loudest table and Hannah Abbott scurried over and took a seat next to a handsome boy with brown hair. He offered her his hand—

"Bones, Susan!" shouted the stern Professor.

A girl with a long plait that went all the way to her lower back scuttled to the stool. She sat with the hat over her eyes for half a minute before the Sorting Hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" Susan, with a smile on her face, joined Hannah Abbott at the cheering Hufflepuff table.

"Boot, Terry" shouted the strict Professor McGonagall. The boy hurried over to the stool, lifted up the hat and placed it on his head all in one fluid motion, as if trying to be done with it as soon as was feasible. After a moment, "Boot, Terry" became the first—

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" followed "Boot, Terry" to the Ravenclaw table a moment later while "Brown, Lavender" became the first of the Gryffindors and she headed off to the table at the far left, which had exploded with cheers, successfully identifying it as the Gryffindor table. Fred and George made loud cat-calls, which was thoroughly disturbing.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" was an ugly, large girl with black hair. She seemed menacing, and Harry thought it appropriate that she became a Slytherin. To Harry, the Slytherins all seemed rather unpleasant, and more than a little threatening, but perhaps that was because Voldemort himself had once been amongst their ranks.

After a while, in which Hermione Granger became a Gryffindor (much to Ron's eternal groans) and a dozen or so other students had been sorted, the moment of Harry's dread was realised.

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall shouted out.

The entire hall went deathly quiet for a moment. Harry stepped out of the line and self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. That was all that was necessary for the hall to become filled with whispers.

"_iPotter_/i? _iThe/i_ Potter? _iHarry/i_ Potter?"

"It can't be! Can it?"

Harry reached out a shaky hand and grabbed the hat, pulling it down over his eyes. The last thing he saw before the hat covered his eyes were hundreds of heads craning to get a better look, and some people looking on in anticipation of, Harry supposed, hearing what house he was to be placed in.

"Harry Potter? Hmmm, yes—I had wondered when you might be here. What's this? Oh my," the hat sounded both surprised and cheerful, "Never has it happened to one so young; how very, very interesting. I wonder… has someone been meddling? You should be cautioned of your actions, Mr. Potter. Now, let's sort out who is here, shall we? Why hello there, Harry! Oh my! M-much potential, Mr. Potter, and more than a little of a thirst to prove yourself. But the question is: where to put you?

"You're brave enough for Gryffindor," the hat decided, "Yes, there is no doubt of your bravery. Your thirst for knowledge would make you an admirable Ravenclaw, this too cannot be denied. You have loyalty to a fault, oh yes. Much loyalty. And such cunning! Any Slytherin would envy you in this respect. Yes, I think that shall be it. It shall help you on the way to greatness, without doubt.

"SLYTHER—" the hat began to shout to the school, but faltered. Harry had already been on the stool for more than a minute, and the school was quite anxious to hear where Harry would go.

i_NO!/i_ two voices echoed in Harry's mind.

iAnywhere but Slytherin! Put me in Gryffindor!/i Harry demanded.

iYes! In Gryffindor!/i Ginny's voice agreed.

The hat chuckled nervously. "They've already been told Slytherin… I don't think there is anything I can do. I've never reversed a decision before." Harry and Ginny would have none of it.

iI don't care /iwhati you have to do! If Harry doesn't want to be a Slytherin, you won't make him!/i Ginny demanded.

The hat heaved a great sighed and relented. "Gryffindor," the hat said in a much quieter voice than he had shouted all those house names for a millennium.

Harry lifted the hat off of his eyes with a satisfied smile. It changed to a small smirk when he saw the occupants of the hall.

Every single member of the hall was shocked, some with their jaws hovering just above the floor. They had just seen something that had never occurred in the history of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore himself was shocked, his mouth not quite open, but his eyes bugging out regardless. A small professor that had been sitting a few seats from Dumbledore had actually fallen over.

And then, the chant at the Gryffindor table began. It was quiet at first, nothing more than a whisper, "We got Potter," the Weasley twins said at the same time.

"We got Potter," they said again, slightly louder.

"We got Potter," louder once more, this time accompanied by a dozen other voices.

"We got Potter!" again they intoned, half of the table joining in their slightly above normal tone.

"We got Potter!" the entire table said loudly.

"WE GOT POTTER!" the table exploded. Fred and George stood up, jumped onto the table, and broke into an arm-linked jig, while shouting "WE GOT POTTER!" over and over.

Harry came to sit next to the spaces that Fred and George had just vacated. Percy the Prefect came over to him and shook his hand with vigorous pomposity, "Welcome to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter!"

The ruffed ghost with the tights floated over to where he sat and patted his shoulder, giving Harry the feeling of having just had his shoulder become doused in icy water, and smiling widely at him.

i_Good thing that Sorting Hat did what I told it, otherwise—_/i

i_What_ /iwei _told it, Gin,_/i Harry reminded her with a smile.

i_Yes, what_ /iwei _told it! I was going to steal some Floo powder and have a word with the hat, otherwise_./i Ginny assured him.

Harry smiled. It was such a foreign feeling, having someone look out for him; knowing that he has someone in his corner on every decision. It was a wonderful thing to know that he had someone that cared for him.

Harry was surprised by how quickly he had become close to Ginny, but it really didn't take much more than that meeting on King's Cross for him to open up to her about everything and nothing. He had never really had companionship, but he had tried for so long to make friends that he had figured it to be a long process. Maybe it was. Maybe something was just different with Ginny, i_because_/i she was Ginny.

For the first time in his life, knowingly anyway, Harry was completely happy. He was totally contented in all aspects of his life. He had a friend, he was liked, and he was accepted— very accepted actually, if the Gryffindors' reactions to his becoming one of them were to be believed.

So caught up in his thoughts was Harry, that he had only just caught Professor McGonagall call out "Weasley, Ronald." Ron, looking decidedly green, trudged down to where the hat sat on the chair. Harry had his fingers crossed, and almost as soon as the hat had covered Ron's eyes, it shouted for all to hear:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry cheered louder than the rest of the Gryffindors. When Ron came by to sit between him and George, who had cleared a seat for him, Harry and George both slapped him on the back in congratulations. Ron was beaming, even though he was sitting across from Hermione Granger who, ever since she admonished him for his death threats, he was at odds with.

"Congratulations, Ron," Harry said as Percy grabbed Ron's hand and shook it very pompously.

"Most excellent, Ron," Percy said, in his most pompous voice.

Fred and George decided a bit of teasing was in order. "Oh yes, good show, old boy!" Fred said, seizing Ron's hand from where he sat.

"Truly spiffing how you managed it!" George agreed, taking his other hand. Ron laughed at the two's antics, while Percy scowled. He opened his mouth to begin one of his evidently patented lectures, when Professor Dumbledore stood up, effectively silencing the entire room.

He was beaming from ear to ear, with his arms spread wide in welcome. "Welcome!" he said to them in a very jolly voice that seemed to radiate with youth, despite his age. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our marvelous feast," the headmaster paused as Ron's stomach gave a very loud growl, "Yes Mr. Weasley, there will be a feast—in just a moment in fact!" Ron's face was the colour of his hair from being singled out, and it was all Harry could do to keep from sniggering without restraint.

"But before we partake, I would like to say a few words. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you," he said as he sat down.

Harry didn't know whether or not to laugh, but joined in with the loud clapping anyway. Turning to Fred, he asked, "Is he…er— a bit mad?"

Fred looked at him as if i_he/i_ were mad. "Of course he is!" George said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was.

"Potatoes, Harry?" asked Percy, holding out a large platter that carried a veritable mountain of potatoes on it. Harry's mouth dropped as he saw the food that had suddenly covered the table. There was loads of it! Everything that Harry could think of was accounted for! Even peppermint humbugs were represented in the feast!

Harry, who had only just realised how very hungry he was, tore into everything with relish. He had a mountain to rival the potato mound on his plate, and he gorged himself to the full extent of his stomach. It was only after he was halfway through eating a peppermint humbug that he noticed the tights-donned ghost across from him, gazing at his food longingly.

The ghost, noticing Harry's gaze, gave him a short shake of the head. "I haven't eaten in nearly five hundred years. I miss it, even if I don't, technically, have any use for it. I don't need to eat, you see."

Suddenly, the ghost looked appalled. "I'm so sorry! I've not introduced myself! I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service, young master." He bowed deeply as he spoke.

"Don't listen to him!" George said to Harry, "He's Nearly-Headless Nick, and he knows it!"

The ghost shot a look of venom at George. Harry had just opened his mouth to ask how he could be i_nearly_/i headless, but stopped when the ghost begged, "Please don't ask! I would like to go through a Welcoming Feast without taking off my head at least once before… well… I suppose forever… but that's hardly the point!"

Harry was feeling very sleepy now and it was not long before he felt Ginny fall asleep. She had been lying in bed since Harry had gotten to Hogwarts and, as she was in a much more comfortable position than Harry, was perfectly able to drop off.

Harry's head had drooped forward, and he was but a fraction of a second from being asleep where he sat, when suddenly all the noise in the hall ceased. Harry jerked his head up and looked around; trying to see what had made the entire hall go silent. He followed the twins' gazes up to the head table. Professor Dumbledore was standing once more.

He cleared his throat, "Ahem—just a word or two more now that we have successfully gorged ourselves before you all trot off to join the world of dreaming. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"It should be noted by first all first years that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils; misters Weasley would do well to remember as well," he added, with a quick glance of his brightly twinkling eyes over to where Fred and George sat. They drew themselves up proudly; obviously, they considered it a great honour to be mentioned directly in the headmaster's opening address.

"Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you all that magic is strictly forbidden in the corridors. He also noted to me that there were several dungeons that needed scrubbing.

"Those who would like to be on their house's Quidditch team are to contact Madam Hooch before trials begin in two weeks' time.

"And finally," Harry noticed that Professor Dumbledore's eyes stopped twinkling and that his face had gained a most serious expression, "I must inform you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to all those who hold their lives in high regard. I must ask that ino one/i venture there, for the consequences of doing so could cost you your life."

Harry had half a mind to laugh, thinking it slightly ridiculous, but the lack of twinkle in the headmaster's eyes made him think better of it. A few people did give a chuckle, but they seemed like rather nervous ones.

"Is he serious, Percy?" Harry asked him.

Percy, who was frowning, nodded his head, "He must be. He wouldn't joke about something such as that. It's odd though, because he usually gives us reasons not to do things. Everyone knows that the Forbidden Forest is full of dangerous creatures, and everyone else knows that Mr. Filch tries to skin anyone he catches doing magic, though no one is sure why." Percy's frown grew deeper, into scowling territory, "I would think that he would have told us prefects what all the trouble was, at least."

"And now," Dumbledore cried into the hall, "Before we succumb to the dreaming, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore was beaming widely, but Harry noticed that the smiles on all of the other teachers' faces were rather strained.

Indeed, Harry noticed that one teacher; a greasy, dark haired man with pale skin and a large, hooked nose was openly scowling. And not only was he scowling—he was scowling directly at Harry.

Next to this teacher was Professor Quirrell, who looked rather nervous as usual. Professor Quirrell, it appeared, had dropped something on the ground before him, and as he came up with spoon in hand, his turban covered most of the hooked nosed teacher, though the man's eyes were still visible, and quite suddenly, a sharp pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

So ensnared was Harry with the pain in his scar, that he did not even notice that the entire school was singing until they had reached the final line.

i "_And learn until our brains rot_,"/i most of the school finished here, though about a dozen or two students continued singing. Theirs' was a much slower tune, but even they finished before the Weasley twins, who had thrown their arms over each others' shoulders and were singing a long, slow funeral march. Professor Dumbledore himself conducted their last few lines with his wand and bowed to them, clapping louder than the rest, when they had finished.

"Ah, music," said the professor while wiping his eyes, "A magic beyond all we do here! That is all for tonight, my students. Good-night and pleasant dreams; off you trot!"

Percy was calling for the first years to follow him, so Harry got in line with the rest, standing right behind Neville Longbottom, who kept stumbling as he walked. They climbed staircase after staircase and even went through a few doors that were hidden behind tapestries; they passed portraits that whispered to each other as the students passed. Up and up they climbed on a staircase, when Harry suddenly heard his name being called.

"Harry!" stage-whispered one of the twins, trying to get his attention, "Pssst, Harry!" Down at the end of a corridor toward the right of him stood Fred and George, they were waving him over. Harry looked around, trying to see if there was anyone around who would notice him getting out of line. Seeing no one, he scurried over to Fred and George.

"We're going to go get that toilet seat now, Harry. So come on, we're going to get it from the prefects bathroom," one of the twins said to him while the other started to lead them up a staircase and through a few hidden passageways.

After about ten minutes of walking, they came to a stop in front of a portrait of a confused looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands. "Boris the Bewildered," one of the twins informed him. The other twin turned toward a door on the right side of Boris, and muttered the words "Pine Fresh." The door creaked open, and both the twins and Harry bolted in silently.

The bathroom itself was enormous. It had a gigantic bath in the centre with a diving board on one end of it. Hundreds of taps lined the edges of the bath; each tap had a different coloured jewel for a handle.

"Come on, we don't want to be caught hanging around in here," one of the twins said, while motioning to a single toilet in the far corner. "I wouldn't put it past Percy to take advantage of his perfectly perks tonight."

The toilet was fantastic. The toilet itself was made of what had to be solid gold, and had a finely carved, wooden toilet seat on top with a large 'H' embossed on it.

Both Fred and George pointed their wands at screws that were in the toilet seat, and muttered, in unison, "i_Extraxit_!/i" They pulled back with their wands in a slow way and they rotated their wrists, causing the screws to come out.

"Very important that you move your wrist like this, otherwise we might break the seat," one of the twins informed him.

"Come on, Harry, give it a try. Just say the incantation, pull back slowly, and rotate your wrist. The screw'll come right out! It's not a very hard spell, come on!" the other twin encouraged.

Harry grinned. He pointed his wand at another screw that was lodged in the toilet seat, and said the incantation. "i_Extraxit!_/i" he intoned. He began pulling back on the screw while turning his wrist and was gleeful when he saw the screw coming out.

It was only after he got the last of the screw out of the seat that he noticed both twins looking at him with shock.

"Y-you didn't even say anything!" one of the twins said, flabbergasted.

"N-no incantation—or anything!" the other twin agreed. Harry didn't notice not saying the incantation, but it wouldn't be the first time it had happened.

Then their shock turned into awe. "You can do nonverbal magic, Harry?"

Harry blushed, but grinned a little. "Yeah… actually… I've never done magic with the words. But I bet loads of other first years can do that." Harry, having never received real praise for most of his life, didn't quite know how to react.

"My arse!" one of the twins shouted, his eyes bulging, "Nonverbal magic is N.E.W.T. standard, it is! And even most N.E.W.T. students cheat about it! Percy can't even do nonverbal magic! And he prides himself on being able to do i_every_/i type of magic!"

The other twin got a distinctly mischievous grin on his face. "Harry… the main reason we are ever caught for a prank is because someone hears us use the incantation… If you can do it without saying anything…" the twin trailed off.

The other twin's face lit up. "You're going to have to teach us, Harry. The pupil must teach the master." the twin said in a terrible impersonation of an East Asian man.

Harry laughed, "All right, but I don't know how I do it… I just do." Harry thought for a moment, "I'll try and teach you guys how to do spells without the words, but you have to teach me spells that they won't teach me in first year."

The twins looked positively joyous. "DEAL!" they both shouted together.

"Now, about this toilet seat…" Harry started, "Can we carve our names into it, or something?"

The twins looked at each other. "No," one twin started, "but we can burn our names into it."

Harry smiled. "Let's do that, then."

"All right, Harry. The incantation is 'i_Ignis/i'_. How do we do it without speaking?" asked one of the twins.

"i_Ignis_/i…. All right. Just think the words in your head, concentrate very hard on them, and do the normal wand movements." Now Harry was glad he had read so very much of his school books over the summer, he knew the basics of how magic worked, so he could adapt that to his nonverbal spells, even if it was a very unorthodox way of teaching.

Fred and George screwed up their faces in concentration. After a moment in which nothing happened, Harry told them to stop. "We'll work on it later, let's get our names in this seat and send it out so I can go to bed. You guys realise it's almost midnight, right?" Harry really was tired. Exhausted, even. He had been up since dawn, and he might be up at dawn again, without ever having gone to sleep, if this kept up.

"Right, then. i_Ignis!_/i" one of the twins shouted. His wand tip started to smoke slightly. The tip, evidently, was now burning hot.

"i_Ignis!_/i" his twin repeated, his wand doing the same as his twin's.

i_Ignis!_/i Harry's wand tip glowed and smoked as well. He put it to the back of the toilet seat and wrote out the words:

"i_With Love,_

_Harry, Fred, & George_/i"

It took Harry a few minutes to write it out, wanting to make it look nice. He missed the significant look that Fred and George shared as he did this.

Fred pulled out a mass of revolting red and orange wrapping paper, and proceeded to cover the toilet seat with it. He then pulled out a quill from his pocket; it looked as if it had seen better days. Following the quill he pulled a small bottle of ink from his pocket as well.

"_iTo Ickle Gin-Gin_/i" he wrote on it in a messy scrawl.

"I've got an owl we can use," Harry informed them, "but we're going to need more than one to get it to your house."

"Don't worry, Harry," one of the twins said to him, "We'll nick Hermes, Percy'll never know."

"Right," Harry said. He did not think for a second that this would escape Percy's notice. "I don't know where Hedwig is, though. Ron and me just left our stuff on the train, like the conductor said to. Does it come up here, or…?" Harry trailed off, uncertain of what had become of his things.

"Your owl will be up in the Owlery by now, don't worry."

An hour and a half later, after evading the caretaker, Mr. Filch, and his cat, Mrs. Norris, and tying the toilet seat to Hedwig and Hermes, Harry and the twins went to Gryffindor Tower. Harry had no idea how they got there, and was certain he'd get lost a hundred times over before the school year was out.

The password, "Caput Draconis," had to be given to the portrait of a very fat woman wearing a pink dress. Fred and George showed Harry to his dormitory and bade him goodnight.

Harry went to sleep, very tired, but with a smile on his face.

**A/N:** _That's that. See you next week._


	10. Chapter 10: A Day in the Life

**Chapter Ten  
****A Day in the Life  
****(The Ginny Interlude)**

Ginny Weasley was, to the untrained eye, a typical girl. She was a young, red-headed girl with a smattering of freckles and deep, chocolate brown eyes. She was the youngest child and only girl in a family with seven children. She was as typical a girl as a girl could be. Well, at least as typical a girl can be when she is a witch.

Ginny Weasley was ten years old, and just a year shy of going off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry where all of her brothers, as well as her (albeit recently made) best friend Harry Potter, went to school.

She had only known Harry for less than a day, but she considered him her best friend. It was true that Ginny didn't really have that many friends outside of her family—oh; there was a girl in the village near her home that she was friends with, but she was a little odd and Ginny didn't feel she was that close to her, as she was only with her on the rare occasion that her mum and dad had important matters to attend to.

She had met Harry Potter the day before at the train station where her brothers, as well as all the other Hogwarts students, left to go to school. He was a small, timid boy with messy black hair and vibrant green eyes, and he seemed quite shy, though very polite, when he asked if she would show him how to get onto the platform that would take him to school.

Of course, she had said that she would, and as she had grasped his hand to guide him to the entryway there was a surge of— _something_ when her hand touched his. She was certain that he had felt it as well; he certainly seemed as surprised as she was by the jolt of what ever it was.

Ever since that moment, Harry and Ginny had been able to converse without words. They could feel each other's emotions without expending any effort, and it was perhaps this more than anything else that made them as close as they were.

Harry had gotten onto the train that would take him to Hogwarts, the Hogwarts Express, and on it he had met Ginny's older brother Ron.

Ron was the youngest of the Weasley males. He was loud, not very sensitive, and quick-tempered; but then, most of the Weasleys were quick-tempered. Ginny herself certainly was, and her mother's temper was both a fearsome and awe-inspiring sight.

Like all Weasleys, Ron had red hair and lots of freckles. He also had something of an inferiority-complex. He felt overshadowed by his older brothers, who were all brilliant in what they did, he felt insufficient, as anything he accomplished, his brothers had all ready managed.

Ginny's next older brothers after Ron, Fred and George, were twins. They were the most mischievous people Ginny had ever known and they played pranks all the time. They were brilliant at what they did; their pranks at Hogwarts were said to be legendary and the rage they inspired in their mother certainly was as well.

They were very good natured, carefree individuals. Despite their carefree attitudes, however, they always seemed to manage decent marks, and there was no doubt about their ingenuity. The fact that they seemed far more concerned with turning the Slytherins different colours than with their Transfiguration exams infuriated their mother like nothing else, but they managed well enough all the same.

Recently, very recently in fact, they had recruited Harry into their ranks of Troublemakers-in-Chief. They had shown him a slip of parchment that they had nicked from the Hogwarts Library that listed the school's detention records.

Harry's father, James Potter, topped the list for every detention category, and the numbers were so astronomical that it was obvious James had been quite the prankster in his day.

Seeing his father's name on the records compelled Harry to uphold his father's rank, thereby persuading him to accept the twins' offer.

Ginny hoped to join Harry and the twins in their dastardly ways when she herself was able to go to Hogwarts, in just a years' time. She had already resolved herself to work hard, studying as hard as Harry, so that she would have a head-start on everyone else at Hogwarts when she arrived. This would allow her to focus plenty of time on performing pranks once she finally arrived at Hogwarts.

The twins' next older brother, Percy, was easily the most studious of the Weasleys. He was quite fond of rules and all things structural, and as such became a prefect at Hogwarts during this, his fifth, year. He was at the top of his year in all subjects and adored the teachers, revering them as something just below gods.

Percy was the most uptight of her brothers, with the twins being the least so. Percy loved to lecture people on their faults and would build up a lecture for hours at a time if you didn't stop him early. It was the same tactic that was necessary when dealing with her mum, actually. If you let either of them buildup a full head of steam, they could go on for hours and hours, ranting and raving about everything and nothing.

Charlie, the second oldest brother, worked as a Dragon Keeper in Romania. He worked on a Dragon preserve and tended to the fire-breathing beasts. When she had informed Harry of Charlie's occupation, he had commented that Hagrid, the giant groundskeeper at Hogwarts, would kill for such a job. Harry had corrected himself, going on to say that Hagrid wouldn't kill for the job, but he might maim a person or two.

Charlie had also been a star player for the Gryffindor house Quidditch team. He had been a seeker for the team, and it was often remarked by Fred and George that he was the best seeker they had ever seen play. Seekers, in Quidditch, had the job of finding a small winged golden ball that would fly around the pitch and catching it before the opposing team's seeker caught it. The Seeker was also the person most likely to be fouled in the game.

Bill, the oldest of the Weasley sons, had been Head Boy during his seventh year at Hogwarts and was simply brilliant in all academic levels, attaining twelve N.E.W.T.s during his time there.

Bill was also Ginny's favourite brother and their sibling closeness was evident to the rest of the family. Bill, being the oldest, had been the most protective of her when her brothers would tease her about one thing or another. Recently however, Bill had begun to back off with his fierce protectiveness, after seeing her use of the Bat-Bogey Hex on several of her brothers.

Bill was now a Charm Breaker working for Gringotts in Egypt. He greatly enjoyed his work and was fascinated by the many enchanted objects he would find on the job.

He was also, by far, the "coolest" of the Weasleys. Since leaving Hogwarts, he had allowed his hair to grow out and had gained a dragon-fang earring. He often wore Dragonhide boots that would not look out of place at a Muggle rock concert. All of this was much to the Weasley matriarch's verbal mortification.

Ginny's mother, Molly Weasley, was fiercely protective of her brood and had a yelling voice that was legendary even in Ottery St. Catchpole, the neighboring village. Molly was a plump woman who, when she wasn't berating them until they begged for merciful death, was a very kind natured woman who often fussed over them.

Molly was old fashioned in the sense that she absolutely disapproved of Bill's appearance and was not averse to ranting about "scarlet women" and people who were improper.

Her two brothers, Gideon and Fabian, had both died during the war against Voldemort. She rarely spoke of them, not because she was ashamed of them, but rather because it was such a very painful subject for her. She had loved her brothers dearly, and they were deeply entrenched in the war against the Dark.

Molly had once told them, between choked back sobs, that her brothers had "died like heroes," fighting off more than half a dozen of You-Know-Who's followers before being killed themselves.

Gideon and Fabian Prewitt were both excellent wizards, and Molly Weasley kept a few trunks full of their things at the Weasley home. Indeed, Ginny had learnt the infamous Bat-Bogey Hex from one of her uncles' books of self-crafted spells, which resided in the attic. She had decided to show Harry the book at the soonest possible opportunity, as she was sure that some of the spells could prove useful against the boy who was simply known as "The Git" in her mind, Draco Malfoy.

The book that contained the Bat-Bogey Hex was and old, slim one. It had a plain black cover with loopy, silver writing on the front and spine that proclaimed quite clearly: "The Spells of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt." Despite the obvious age of the book, evident from the dust that the volume had accumulated over the years, it looked in good condition. The cover was in pristine order, and the pages had very few wrinkles or markings of any kind. The writing inside of the volume was done in the same loopy hand as the cover was

The book began with spells that would do such unimportant things as make one's eyes well up, or that made one's nose run uncontrollably. There was even a charm that increased the volume and frequency of one's snores, though Ginny, for the life of her, couldn't figure out why someone would _want_ to do that.

And so today, the day after her brothers and Harry had gone off to Hogwarts, she could be found sifting through the old tome, looking for spells that could be useful for Harry against Draco Malfoy.

She had found a multitude of spells that looked as if they would be very effective for causing a great deal of pain and discomfort, but they all seemed to be much too difficult for any first year student at Hogwarts to perform. She did, however, find a few spells that she thought he could manage, and which would be effective against the ponce.

It was a spell that that Ginny was sure they did not teach at Hogwarts. It wasn't a Dark spell, but it also wasn't something that you wanted students to know how to do, as the effects could prove disastrous in a learning situation.

The Tying Charm, a charm that Ginny was sure Harry would enjoy using against Malfoy, made two objects (such as shoelaces) tie to one another. Ginny was just about to tell Harry about it, who was sitting in the Great Hall eating breakfast and waiting for Ginny to tell him a spell that could be useful, when two owls flew into the room, carrying between them an oddly shaped package wrapped in truly repulsive red and orange striped wrapping paper.

She instantly recognised one of the owls as Percy's owl, Hermes. It took her a moment longer, but she also recognised the second owl as the one Harry was pulling along on his trolley the day before. It was then that she detected a bit of anticipation emanating from Harry.

_Harry…_ she began slowly, dragging out his name, _What is this?_ she asked in obvious suspicion; she could feel Harry's apprehension about the gift.

_Er—I…er—I dunno, Gin. Why don't you open it up?_ Harry suggested feebly.

_You _do_ know, Harry. And I'm not opening it until you tell me what it is!_ she vowed.

_Well…_ Harry started, sounding both embarrassed and nervous, _You remember how Fred and George promised they'd send you a Hogwarts toilet seat? And how I said that I wanted in on it? Well—last night, after you'd gone to sleep, me, Fred, and George went into the prefects' bathroom and er—I think Fred used the term 'liberated'—this from it. They also… kind of… figured out that I can do nonverbal magic, too…_ Harry now sounded more uncomfortable than before, _And now I…kind of… agreed to teach them how to do it… but they have to teach me spells that they don't teach first years, too! _ Harry said the last bit as if it canceled out the fact that he was going to teach her brothers a bit of very difficult bit of magic.

Ginny burst out laughing. _You sent me a toilet seat, which you stole from the prefects' bathroom, and then let the twins find out you can do magic without saying anything, _ Harry had confessed to Ginny on the train that he had never done magic with an incantation before, _And then—then you agreed to _teach_ them how to do it? Harry you poor, poor boy!_ she exclaimed as she continued to laugh at his predicament.

She felt Harry smile a rueful grin as she thought these things to him. _Well, at least open our present!_ Harry said, trying to steer their conversation away from the topic of his unfortunate position.

Ginny smiled and tore into the paper with relish. She took great satisfaction in tearing away the horrible wrapping paper, and grinned widely when she saw the wooden toilet seat within.

It was finely carved, she noted, and the embossed 'H' was particularly striking on the polished wood. It was then that she noticed that the words, "_With Love, Harry, Fred, & George_" engraved into the wood, using what appeared to be fire.

_Wow, Harry…_ she trailed off, enraptured by the inane beauty of this defecation-aiding device. _Thank you!_

She felt Harry blush under her praise. She heard his distinct thought of being undeserving of her praise, and this brought a scowl to her face. _Those Dursleys…_ The truth of the matter was that she knew only the very tip of the iceberg of what had happened at the Dursleys.

She thought that the Dursleys simply disliked Harry, and that they kept his self-esteem very low. She didn't know of the other things they had done to him. She knew nothing of the physical, verbal, and emotional abuses that Harry had endured while living with the Dursleys for those ten years.

_They weren't so bad…_ Harry trailed off when he felt Ginny start to protest, _Really! They were just trying to teach me to obey them!_ Harry hoped fervently that Ginny wouldn't find out what his relatives had done to him. He was ashamed that he was too weak to fight back…ashamed that he was unable to prevent his uncle from hitting him by just doing what he said.

Ginny felt Harry's mind sinking into dark thoughts; even if those thoughts were guarded from her by something unknown, she could still tell that his mood was slipping.

Trying to change the subject, Ginny exclaimed in their mind, _Oh! I have an idea! In my uncles' spell book, there was a sticking charm mentioned. Mum'll try to send the seat back to Hogwarts, but if I stick it to the wall…_ she trailed off.

She felt as Harry grinned at her idea, and she grinned softly in reciprocation.

_Won't you get into trouble for using magic outside of school?_ Harry asked her concernedly.

Ginny's face gained a confused expression. _Oh, right! Well, I don't think they can't tell the difference between my magic and Mum's, anyway. Otherwise, Fred and George would have gotten a lot more warnings from the Ministry than they have,_ Ginny reasoned.

She felt Harry's expression clear in acceptance of her Sticking Charm idea. _I'll have to grab Mum's wand, though…_ That was the tricky part, really. Her mother was usually quite cautious about leaving her wand lying around… but Ginny hoped that, as the youngest and most innocent of her children, Molly would let her guard down when it was just Ginny that was home.

Sneaking out of the attic, she carefully stalked down the stairs to the kitchen; her mother's domain. She could hear her mum humming an indistinct tune, with her back toward the staircase. Carefully creeping toward the table to begin to search for her mum's wand, Ginny looked around.

It wasn't on the table, nor was it on the counter… It was in the back pocket of her mother's floral apron. _Oh dear, _ was Ginny's thought on the matter. _Any brilliant ideas, Harry? _

_Er—make a distraction?_ Harry's brilliant suggestion was intoned pathetically. _"Harry, are you alright, mate?"_ Ginny heard Ron's voice second-handedly through Harry. _"You seem a bit… er—off?"_

_Great timing, Ron,_ Harry thought sarcastically. _"Yeah, I'm alright, just a bit nervous about classes, and all that…"_ lied Harry to Ron not-so-smoothly; luckily, Ron being Ron, didn't catch Harry's weak lie.

Ginny, deciding that Harry's conversation with Ron could go on for awhile, tuned out Harry and returned her attention to the matter at hand. Moving with deliberate slowness, Ginny inched her way toward her humming mother. Reaching out her shaking hand, Ginny slowly removed her mum's wand from her apron.

Just as Ginny almost had her wand out of her pocket, her mother bent over to pick a dropped piece of silverware. Ginny nearly gasped aloud as the wand she was extracting from the apron pocket fell out and went plummeting toward the ground.

With reflexes born from having stolen things her brothers for all her life, Ginny quickly snatched the wand in mid-air before it hit the ground. Ginny turned quickly once the wand was in her hand, and made a silent retreat. She was at the foot of the stairs and began to climb when something that can only happen when one is trying their hardest not to be noticed. She lost her footing on the stairs and fell forward quickly.

She landed on the stairs with a '_thump_' and was feeling quite graceful as she looked down at the stairs beneath her; her arms having saved her face from collision not a moment too soon.

Unfortunately for Ginny, her mother heard her fall and went into full 'clucking hen' mode. "Ginny, dear? Are you alright, dear?" fussed her mother.

Ginny was fortunate despite her fall, however, for her mother's wand had somehow flown out of her hand and onto the landing above her.

"I'm alright, Mum, don't worry," Ginny said, wincing as she did. She had scraped her knees on the wooden steps, and she thought her arms would probably be bruised the next day.

_Are you really alright, Gin?_ Harry asked her, concerned for her well-being and realising she had probably lied to her mum in order to curb the fussing.

Ginny gave a grimace as her mother wiped a wet rag on her scraped knees while she responded to Harry. _I am alright—just a couple of scraped knees… my arms might be a little bruised tomorrow, too, but it's not that bad,_ Ginny assured a worried Harry.

_ "Are you sure you're alright, mate? You're really pale. Maybe you should go up to the Hospital Wing?" _ Ginny could hear Ron suggest to Harry through their link. She could feel Harry's annoyance at being questioned about something that embarrassed him.

For a moment, she could not understand for the life of her why Harry was embarrassed; then it struck her. He was embarrassed because she would know how worried Harry was about her. A wave of a mix of happiness that Harry became pale because of _her_, little Ginny Weasley, sadness that Harry felt a need to be embarrassed about caring for someone, and anger that the Dursleys had caused Harry to be embarrassed about his feelings.

_"I'm fine, Ron. I'm just tired and nervous about classes, is all,"_ Harry said with a trace of irritability in his voice, that Ginny hoped Ron caught on to before he really angered Harry.

Luck appeared to be on their side, because Ginny heard Ron's response of, _ "Alright, mate, just thought you might've been a bit… ill or something." _

Through her awareness of Harry, she knew that Ron had gone back to eating things off of the massive mountain of food that was stacked a foot high on his plate. All of the Weasleys ate large portions of food, but Ron's appetite was legendary enough to daunt even the grandest of her mother's feasts.

It took Ginny a moment to realise that her mum had stopped fussing and was now looking at her oddly. "Sorry," Ginny said to her, her face flush red, "I was just…er—thinking." This wasn't untrue. She had been thinking, it was just a matter of who she was thinking _to_.

Her mother looked at her with an odd, almost pitying, expression on her face for a moment before nodding and smiling kindly at her. "Why don't you go up to bed and take a nap, dear? You'll feel better after a nice nap."

Ginny nodded, this was just the opportunity that she needed. Rising from the seated position she had been in while her mother had wiped her knees down, she climbed the steps, before looking back from the top one at her cleaning mother. Seeing the all-clear, she bent over and picked up her mum's wand.

Once more looking over her shoulder, Ginny saw that her mother was still cleaning one thing or another, and she bolted—painful knees or no—up to the attic where her toilet seat awaited her.

Wanting to be quick about things, Ginny dashed to the old trunk that her toilet seat sat upon and quickly picked it up.

She had just turned on her heel to go down to her room when she remembered her uncles' book. She grabbed the volume with one hand and hastily made her way to her bedroom. With hurried footsteps, she made it to her door and opened it with a noisy creak. She stiffened significantly when her door made the creaking sound, but relaxed when she didn't hear her mother's footsteps on the stairs after a few moments.

Tip-toeing carefully into the room, Ginny said to Harry, _I hope this works… If Mum finds me with her wand… Well, I'll be in enough trouble as it is, but I at least want to get the charm done before she catches me…_

_Wish I could help someway, but…_ Harry trailed off pathetically.

Ginny, after locking her door behind her, sat on her bed. Ginny opened her deceased uncles' book of spells to the page dealing with Sticking Charms and read:

"_ **Sticking Charm, Low-Level: **_

_A variant of the Permanent Sticking Charm, this modification is not permanent, but does cause significant damage to the stuck-to object should the object be removed by force._

_This charm is a much simpler version of more powerful Sticking Charms, and as such is much weaker. The 'stickiness' of the charm will never cease, but can be undone with the countercharm 'Retexo'._

_The caster must concentrate their thoughts fully on the task of making the desired object stick. This charm is one designed for first year students at Hogwarts, but it must not be cast without concentration during the first several attempts._

_**Incantation:** Adhaesium (Ad-hy-see-um)_

_**Wand Movements:** Run wand on the side to be stuck of desired object, with wand held horizontally and parallel to the object. At no time should the wand touch the charmed-to-be object. Much testing has shown that this can lead to a variety of backfirings, including a minor explosion in one test._

_**Spell Colour:** The "stickiness" will glow green for a few moments before fading back into the colour of the stuck object._"

_Okay, this can work…_ Ginny thought to both herself and Harry. _Bill told me once,_ Ginny said to Harry, _That magic is as much in the intention as it is in the actual words or wand movements… So I think I have to really concentrate on the seat getting sticky… and then it just—will be!_

It all seemed logical enough for her. She didn't understand _how_, exactly, it was that magic worked, but Bill had told her a bit about how it worked the last time he was at home, and had insisted that she could do most of the spells Fred and George were doing (they had been first years at the time).

Pulling her mother's wand out from behind her ear, where she had stowed it for safe-keeping, Ginny outstretched her hand and followed the instructions the book had given her.

_Okay… 'Run wand on the side to be stuck of desired object…'_ she twisted her arm until the wand was in the aforementioned position. _Hold parallel…? Harry? What's parallel?_ Ginny asked Harry, who was now on his way to Transfiguration class and was currently being helped out of a trick staircase whose step had given way the moment his foot touched it.

_Er… It means… um… it wants you to have your wand run alongside the toilet seat, but never touch it, and make sure your wand, if it were to continue forever in a straight line, would not touch the seat… At least I think that's what it means…_ Harry trailed off, sounding uncertain as Ron pulled him out.

Ginny would have thought the idea of Harry, the Boy Who Lived to so many, stuck in a trick step on a staircase hilarious if she wasn't so concerned that she might blow herself up. After all, the book had warned that it had happened before…

Steeling herself to cast the spell before she lost her nerve, Ginny held her mum's wand sideways over her new toilet seat and was about to cast the spell—

"Ginny, dear?" her mother's voice echoed through the closed door.

"Yes, Mum?" she responded nervously. Had she noticed that her wand was missing?

"Are you alright, dear? You've been awfully quiet since we got back from King's Cross," Molly Weasley inquired.

"Yes Mum, I'm fine." Her nervousness was increasing with every syllable her mother uttered. Did she know something? Did she know about the connection she and Harry shared?

"Open the door, dear, I'd rather not have a complete conversation through it." Now Ginny's nervousness was skyrocketing; she had to let her mother in?

She had to let her mother in! _Quick, Gin, cast the spell and put the seat where you want, but do it before you let your Mum in! And hide the spell book!_ urged Harry, who was half-heartedly searching for his Transfiguration classroom. _If you can, do it silently! You might be able to claim it was accidental magic if your Mum doesn't hear you say anything, or if she doesn't find her wand._

Ginny nodded to Harry, though she was fully aware that he couldn't see her, he would understand the sentiment regardless. "Just a second, Mum! I'm changing!" Yes, that seemed as good an excuse as any.

"Oh dear, it's nothing I haven't seen before! When you were a baby…" Ginny tuned her out here; she knew that her mother could go on for days about each of her children's babyhood if they ever let her.

_How do I do it, Harry? Do I just… say the incantation in my head?_ Ginny asked, unsure of what, exactly, nonverbal magic entailed.

_Um… just pay attention to what I do, I think that's the easiest way to teach you…_ Harry said. A moment later, there was an incantation spoken quietly in her head. _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ she heard Harry say.

As Harry said the words, Ginny saw him concentrate on seeing the object do as he willed; in this case, Harry saw a suit of armour lift up an inch or two in his mind.

No sooner did Harry concentrate on the spell's effects and think the incantation than the suit of armour that Harry had swish and flicked his wand at rose roughly an inch off of the ground.

_Just do it like I did, Ginny,_ Harry urged her.

_Okay… here goes nothing!_ she said to Harry. _"Adhaesium!"_ she thought intently while bringing all of her concentration to seeing the object become sticky.

To her utter shock and amazement, it did just that. Green ooze seemed to flow from the side of the wand and attach itself onto the backside of her new toilet seat.

Harry recovered from his considerable shock first. _Quick! Put it where you want it!_ This successfully broke Ginny out of her unproductive reverie.

She jumped up on her bed and in one swift motion had slammed the toilet seat against the wall above the head of her bed. The resounding 'BOOM' spurred her mum to pound on the door.

"Ginny?" she asked in a mixture of alarm and anger.

Ginny hastily shoved her uncles' book under a loose floorboard under her bed and quickly moved toward the door to open it.

"Yes, Mum?" she asked innocently as she swung the door open.

Her mother eyed her in suspicion. "What was that banging noise, dear?" Despite her amiable choice of words, her tone gave away her significant suspicion.

"Nothing, Mum!" Ginny responded in the same innocent tone, not missing a beat.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley, what did you do?" her mother's volume was low, but the deaf could have heard the anger in her voice due to her daughter's obvious evasiveness.

Ginny's mum looked around the room, trying to find the source of the banging noise that she had heard. Ginny was almost in the clear when—

"Ginny, dear," her mother's voice was tinged in suppressed anger, "What is my wand doing lying on your bed?"

Ginny felt her stomach drop. There was no way she could have been so stupid! She turned, horrorstruck, and realised that her mother's wand was indeed lying on her bed; plain as day.

"I—er… I mean… er—"

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY! WHY IS THERE A TOILET SEAT ON YOUR WALL!" her mother boomed, her hands on her hips and drawn to her full height.

Without waiting for an answer, Ginny's mum stormed across the room to Ginny's bed. She looked at the stuck toilet seat and screeched, "FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!"

It took her a moment of fuming before she looked at it once more and reread the inscription. "Harry? The twins don't know any Harry." It took only a couple of moments for her eyes to gain a look of understanding, "THOSE BROTHERS OF YOURS CORRUPTED HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

So irate was her mum, that Ginny thought she just might be able to escape punishment. She was quite wrong, of course. Her mother had tried to grab the toilet seat off of the wall, grabbing and pulling furiously as she did, and was more incensed than before to find it would not budge.

She grabbed her wand and pointed it at the toilet seat. "_Finite Incantatem!_" she roared. She gave a shriek of fury when it continued to stick as stubbornly as ever before. "_Finite!_" she shouted at the toilet seat. Nothing changed whatsoever.

"Ginevra Weasley what spell did you use on this toilet seat!" her mum demanded.

"A Permanent Sticking charm, Mum, why?" Ginny lied in an innocent tone that feigned ignorance. She knew full well that the charm could be undone and that the Permanent Sticking charm could not be. She also knew that her mother knew the Permanent Sticking charm was irreversible.

Her mother paled, "A Permanent Sticking charm?" She paused for a moment, "Where did you learn that?" she asked in anger and shock.

"Fred and George," Ginny responded simply, though she was smirking in her mind to Harry, who was in Transfiguration though he had arrived five minutes late. She knew that it didn't matter that she had learnt no such thing from her brothers, her mother would believe it anyway, because it was something that the twins were likely to do.

"Why those…" her mother's threats about the twins' livelihood became murmured. "Lucky they aren't home—Ought to snap their wands—Get expelled, they will—Where did we go wrong?—Corrupting the Boy Who Lived!—"

She seemed to have only just realised that she was still in the presence of her daughter. "You are in a lot of trouble, missy. You know you're not supposed to use magic, and you should know better than to steal someone's wand so that you can do it! I'm very disappointed in you, and you are to stay in here until I say otherwise, do you understand me, Ginevra?" It was not a question that was destined for an answer.

At Ginny's solemn nod, he mother turned on her heel and strode out of the room, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Give them a Howler…"

_Oh, the twins are in for it now. You might be too, come to think,_ Ginny said to Harry, who was currently trying to ponder what a Howler was and continue to concentrate on what Professor McGonagall was talking about.

*~*

_Just concentrate Harry; Bill told me once that you need to really concentrate on the spell you're using until you become good at it. So just think really hard about the match becoming a needle… and it will be!_" Ginny encouraged, "_I think I mentioned that already, though…_"

Harry chuckled nervously in her head as he tried to change the match in front of him into a needle. He had been in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class for an hour already and the class had taken notes for the first half of the double period without any practical work.

Harry had no problem making the Levitation charm work, but was having a lot of trouble with this Transfiguration business. It was lucky that he didn't need to use incantations in his class however; he wasn't keen on having to teach Ron in addition to the twins.

Ginny felt Harry concentrate with all his might on changing the object into a needle. She saw an image of a needle appear in Harry's mind, and therefore in hers as well. After a few moments' concentration, the match that lay on Harry's desk before him turned silver and slightly pointy.

He tried again and again until he became the first person in his class to successfully transfigure his needle, much to Hermione Granger's consternation.

Ginny never noticed that a piece of parchment on the floor under her bed had vanished, a needle in its place.

**A/N:** _Crap chapter. Feel cheated? Feel robbed? Tell me all about it._


	11. Chapter 11: Sinister Things

**Chapter Eleven  
Sinister Things  
**

After Transfiguration class, Harry had lunch, as Transfiguration was a double period, and was trying his best to keep up conversation with both Ginny and Ron. Ginny thought this was dreadfully funny, as he would sometimes answer Ginny by speaking out loud, while answering Ron in his mind.

After Harry had had lunch (Ginny was going to go down to get some food herself, in just a moment), he went down the stairways that would take him to the Potions classroom, which was held in the dungeons of the school, which were several degrees colder than the rest of the school, and also had a scent of enclosed moisture in the air.

It was Harry's bad luck that Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins were in Potions class during the same time as the Gryffindors.

_Just ignore him for now, Harry. We'll get him later…_ Ginny said to him, consolingly, as Malfoy made rude comments about Harry and Ron's families and social statuses. _You, Fred, and George should be able to get him back… How about you change his hair pink? Fred and George told me that they knew a spell to do it._

Harry grinned at that. "What are you so happy about, mate?" Ron asked Harry, looking at him oddly. "You heard what Fred and George said about Snape this morning… it's enough to make anyone miserable about having him, but here you are—all smiles…" Ron seemed disgruntled that Harry could possibly see an upside to the situation of being stuck in a dark room with a bunch of Slytherins, and if the stories the twins had told of Snape were any indication, they were going to be wishing for just the Slytherins before long.

Ginny felt Harry wave Ron off with a mumbled excuse while the two, sitting near the front of the class, awaited the entrance of Professor Snape.

They didn't have to wait long.

Striding into the room with a furious pace and billowing black robes, the sallow-skinned and greasy, dark-haired man entered the room, sneering at all the Gryffindors as he did.

He strode across the room to his desk, which sat in a dark corner of the class, and pulled off a slip of parchment from it. He proceeded to take roll, his voice but a whisper. He gave all of the Gryffindors glares as their names were said and the Slytherins all received much more pleasant name-readings, not a one got a comment about them. Well, nearly not a one.

"Ah yes," he said softly, having paused from his roll-taking, "Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity. Thank you for gracing us with your… presence," he said in a tone that dripped with venomous sarcasm. Draco Malfoy and his cronies, Goyle and Crabbe, sniggered darkly at this from their seats in the back of the room.

_Er—Harry? I don't think he likes you much,,_ Ginny sent to him through the mental link the two possessed.

"In my classroom there shall be no foolish wand-waving, no mispronounced incantations, and no spells cast. You will learn the art of potion-making, one that is both ancient and underestimated.

"Amongst you are those who will not think this actual magic, for wands are not needed here. It is, however, magic. Of the most ancient and noble order, it is magic. I doubt that many of you," here he shot a glare at Harry, "will appreciate the power and mystique of a softly simmering cauldron and the gentle fumes they exude."

_I take that back, Harry. He doesn't like you at all. He hates you,_ Ginny grimly decided.

"A select few of you, however," here he gazed upon Draco Malfoy, who wore a nauseatingly smug look, "may be knowledgeable enough to value what it is we do here.

_Well! He certainly doesn't play favourites,_ Harry sarcastically said to Ginny in his head. He felt, as well as heard, he laugh lightly. The sound warmed Harry's heart, despite the dark-eyed man who was currently glaring at him.

"Those of you who think your name will carry you in this classroom," he glared at Harry once more, "should leave now. I am not fooled by titles or surnames, and not a one of you will be granted lenience in my classroom, should you commit an act worthy of castigation."

_He's a bit, er—hostile, isn't he?_ Harry understated to Ginny mentally.

None of the Gryffindors seemed to doubt Snape's words at all, though the Slytherins still looked smug, as if not afraid at all of what Snape might do to them. Later that day, Harry would realise why they didn't seem worried. They weren't and had no reason to be.

"Potter!" Snape snapped suddenly, "What would I get if I were to add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood!" It wasn't even spoken as a question. It was a demand.

_Ginny?_ Harry asked piteously, hoping she could help him out of this particular situation.

_I don't know Harry, let me ask Mum._ She ran off through her door and down the stairs, but it was too late to help Harry out of that jam.

"Perhaps not, Potter? Pity. I suppose fame isn't everything," sneered the sinister Snape. "Once more, perhaps?

"If I were to ask you to find me a bezoar, where would you seek it?"

Hermione's hand, which had shot up at the first question, was now raised high enough that she was forced to resort to hovering above her seat, in a sort of half-crouch, trying to extend her hand in a vain attempt to catch Professor Snape's notice. As happens to all those who try too hard, she failed.

"Er—" Harry was trying to stall, to give Ginny time, "I think Hermione might have…er… some idea, sir." The Gryffindors in the class sniggered at this. Many of them would have laughed outright if it weren't for the daunting Potions professor before them.

"Silence, Potter! You will answer my questions without such asinine comments! Where might I find a bezoar, Potter? _Not_ Granger!" he snapped at the bushy-haired girl. "Sit _down_ you foolish girl!"

Ron, despite his verbally expressed dislike for the girl, who was now sniffling quietly and shrinking deeply into her seat amidst the sniggers of the Slytherins, opened his mouth to retort angrily, but Harry stamped on his foot to avoid costing the Gryffindors points and Ron a detention.

"I don't know, sir," Harry replied truthfully. Ginny was now trying to ask her mother the question, while trying to make it sound innocent.

"Very well, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry was ready this time; Ginny had managed to convince her mother that she had simply remembered wondering the question while lying on her bed. _Ginny?_ Harry asked, knowing from the giddy feeling he was feeling from her that she had already asked her mother the question and had been provided with an answer.

_Nothing, Harry, they're the same plant! It's also called aconite by Muggles, Mum says,_ Ginny informed him.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the professor, "Nothing. They are the same plant. Muggles also call it aconite, sir."

The professor narrowed his eyes back at Harry in suspicion. Harry felt a prickle in the back of his head at the professor's stare and presumed that it had something to do with the soul-searching look in Snape's eyes.

After a moment, Snape's face turned a furious shade of white and his eyes widened. "Out! Now! All of you!" he shouted. Immediately there was a rummaging of bags and the putting away of quills and ink pots. "And ten points from Gryffindor, Potter!" he roared at their retreating backs.

_He's really not a cheery sort at all, is he?_ asked Ginny, trying to lighten Harry's mood a little.

Harry and Ron fled from the Potions dungeon and tried to navigate their way to a place they were familiar with. Unfortunately, because Snape had let them out twenty minutes into their two hour class, there were no students or teachers around to ask directions from.

It also didn't help that they weren't, realistically, familiar with any portion of the castle. They walked through the corridors, following stray Gryffindors, and hoping that they weren't caught by the creeping Mr. Filch or his cat, Mrs. Norris, both of whom had been the subject of idle threats from the senior Gryffindor students, overheard by Harry and Ron during breakfast.

After a half hour of wandering corridors, Harry and Ron ran across Fred and George, who must have skived off of classes, because there were still ten minutes before the next classes for those who didn't have a double session.

Having caught sight of Harry and Ron, the twins shouted in unison, "Ickle Ronniekins! Harrykins! Fancy seeing you two skiving off classes on this fine afternoon!"

"I always said he wasn't going to turn out like Percy, didn't I Fred?" asked George of his twin.

"Why yes, my twin, you did! You had your concerns, though; concerns that, I might add, were not unfounded! I seem to recall Bill and Charlie betting against us that Ickle Ronniekins would become a _prefect_ someday!" Both twins and Ron looked aghast.

"How could they think that of me? I know better!" exclaimed Ron, "I'll never be a prefect!" he roared in fierce indignation.

Fred and George began to wipe imaginary tears from their eyes. "Atta boy, Ronniekins!"

_Why are Fred and George so dead-set against being prefects? Wouldn't they be able to wander the corridors later? That would make it easier to prank, wouldn't it?_ Harry asked Ginny.

Ginny was silent for a moment, _Yes, it probably would, but they don't want to seem like Percy. Everyone's known he was going to be prefect since before he went to Hogwarts. He's always been one for rules and order, and the twins are the exact opposites. They live for chaos and disorder, mayhem is their forte. Anything that would associate them to Percy on that grand of a scale they would have to denounce._

_It really would help with pranks, though,_ she agreed. _We'll just have to become prefects when we get into our fifth years,_ she said happily to him. Harry smiled at that. He wondered how the Pranksters-in-Chief would feel about it, though.

He didn't even notice that someone was talking to him until Ron nudged him in the ribs. "You all right, mate? You seem to do that a lot—just spacing out. You never did it on the train, though," Ron said.

The twins, too, were looking at him oddly. "Er—sorry. Just thinking, I guess," Harry said nervously. He would have to stop doing that.

"Okay. I was just explaining to these two," Rom indicated the twins, "what happened in Potions this morning."

"Oh yeah. It was weird; he asked me a question, I answered it, and then he just kind of narrowed his eyes before he started yelling at us. It was really bizarre," Harry said, glad they were discussing something he could contribute to confidently.

"Weird," remarked one of the twins, "I mean, he snaps a lot, at us at least, but he doesn't shriek like a banshee from anything we do," the red-haired boy gave a long look to his twin, "and we do a lot."

"He doesn't seem to like you much, does he Harry?" Ron asked Harry.

"Yeah, at the feast last night he was glaring at me a lot… and in class he kept making comments about my being famous and about how my last name wouldn't 'get me any special treatment'.

"I think he's wrong, though. I do get special treatment. Especially from him," Ron looked at him as if he were mental, "I mean, come on Ron, did he glare at anyone else quite as much? And then exploding just because I answered a question correctly…"

_He's a git,_ Ginny agreed.

"Anyway," Harry said, trying to steer the conversation away from himself and on to someone else, "What are you two doing out of class?"

The twins laughed. "We're hardly out of class!" exclaimed one, "It was just History of Magic! I think you're _supposed_ to skive off of History of Magic."

"Most boring class there is," added the other twin as a sort of afterthought.

"We haven't got History of Magic until…" Ron had pulled out his schedule and was scanning the listings, "Tomorrow."

"What's so boring about History of Magic?" asked Harry. He thought that learning about wizarding history would be very exciting, and imagined it to be full of epic battles of wizard against wizard, battling for dominance.

"It's taught by the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts," explained one of the twins, "and he never seems to stop droning on about goblin rebellions."

"It has potential to be interesting," continued the other twin, "but the way he teaches it makes it nearly impossible to stay awake, let alone pay attention. He just drones on and on in a monotone, never changing pace or pitch, or anything!"

"We just show up for the first couple of minutes and then when he starts droning on and on, we just leave. He's not noticed yet, and we've been doing it everyday since the middle of first year," said a twin.

"Others have tried to do what we do, but they've all been caught by Filch," the twin said this with pride in his voice, indeed he perked up a bit when he said it.

"How come you two have never been caught? You get in trouble all the time; Mum's always going on about how she's gotten more owls about you than the rest of us combined! How do you always avoid Filch?" asked Ron.

"Ask us no questions," began the twins in unison.

"—and we'll tell you no lies," Harry muttered, finishing for them. They stared at him. "What? I read it in a book someplace."

"Oh dear! Ickle Harrykins reads! We might have another prefect on our hands, Gred," Forge exclaimed to his twin.

"Nay! It cannot be, my twin!" shouted Gred. "Perhaps he—"

He stopped when he heard the sound of heavy wheezing and running footsteps. "Filch!" the twins exclaimed to Harry and Ron in hushed tones. "C'mon, he'll give us detentions for a week, excuse or no, if he catches us here," one of them said, pointing to a corridor.

The twins began to sprint down the corridor they indicated, Harry and Ron on their heels. The sound of their footfalls drowned out any noise Filch might have been making, so they had no idea how close he was to them, so they continued to run and run for what felt, to Harry, like hours.

Finally, they came to a halt at the end of a long corridor that Harry was sure was on at least the fourth floor. "Bloody," exclaimed one of the twins, panting, "Filch! He's always—wandering around, trying to—get us in trouble."

"Yes, and threaten us—with having our thumbs—hanging—from the ceiling—in his office," breathed out the other twin.

Just then the bell that signaled the end of class rang throughout the school, and it was only a moment before the pounding of hundreds of feet could be heard as people headed to their common rooms.

"Er—how do we get back to Gryffindor Tower?" asked Harry of the twins. He hadn't had much of a chance to get well-acquainted with the castle's corridors yet and was fairly certain that if he went off to find the common room on his own that he would end up back in the dungeons.

"Just follow us, children," the twins said in sickeningly sweet voices. "We won't lead you astray!"

_Don't trust them an inch, Harry. Whenever they are trying to act innocent is the time you need to be most on your guard. I'll bet they're going to prank you before you get to the tower, so be on your guard,_ Ginny advised him.

Ron, too, looked wary of the twins, but nodded to them in a way that plainly stated, "Lead the way!"

Harry followed slightly behind Ron as the twins led them, supposedly, back to Gryffindor Tower. Heeding Ginny's advice, Harry was on the look-out for any potential pranking situations. Because of his wariness, he also, much to Ginny's delight and Harry's chagrin that she was aware of it, jumped at small noises, immediately pulling out his wand, preparing to… well, wave it at whatever threatened him.

The twins led Harry and Ron through quite a lot of tapestries and down several long corridors as well as up and down what had to be a dozen staircases. Harry was convinced that a picture of a busty lady in a red dress had winked at him, and that Fred and George had led him by it several times on purpose.

If Ron noticed, he didn't say anything, but then, his mouth was agape and Harry was pretty sure his mind wasn't functioning quite right, if the goofy grin on his face was any indicator.

After passing passed the portrait three more times, the twins finally began to lead them down an unfamiliar corridor that didn't end up back at the red-dressed lady's portrait. They ambled along this corridor, which was quite a long one; Harry guessed it was at few hundred metres long.

The corridor was dark; no windows adorned the walls, though there were many torches lining up and down the walls. The carpet they trod upon was a deep, blood red in colouring and seemed as if it were not typically walked on. There were dozens of tapestries along the stone walls and each tapestry seemed to depict men and women being prodded with pokers or stabbed with swords.

"F-Fred? Where are we?" asked Ron, evidently a bit frightened by their sombre surroundings.

"Oh don't be a baby about it, Ron!" Fred laughed. "It's just a shortcut to get back to the tower! There aren't many spiders down here, Ron, if that's what you're worried about."

"Afraid of spiders, Ron?" asked Harry. He actually rather liked spiders; they had been constant companions in the cupboard.

Ron turned red. "I'm not afraid of spiders! I dunno what Fred's on about!" Ron exclaimed adamantly.

_Don't listen to him, Harry. He's been terrified of spiders since he was five when Fred turned his teddy bear into a spider,_ Ginny informed him, giggling softly.

"It's all right, Ron," Harry said amusedly, "I'd be afraid of spiders too if Fred turned one of my teddy bears," here Harry had to suppress a snort at the extreme unlikelihood that he would have had a teddy bear that could have been abused by Fred, "into a spider when I was younger."

Ron turned white and started to sputter immediately, "D-don't know—what you're talking—about, Harry."

Fred and George began to laugh hysterically at Ron's discomfort. "Who told you that, Harry?" the twins asked between their laughs, gasping as they spoke.

Harry shrugged. "Percy might've mentioned it to me," Harry smoothly lied to them, saying nothing else and wearing a mysterious expression on his face.

The twins eyed him speculatively, but Ron seemed to have accepted his story without question, though he was now rather redder than was strictly usual.

It was then that Harry felt them. There was an odd feeling, vaguely like the feeling of when Snape had peered into his eyes. And there was a presence. The presence was overwhelming. It was not a bad feeling, like the one he had gotten the first time he met Draco Malfoy, but it was a feeling all the same. It was… Light, Harry thought he might describe it, but it wasn't as powerful as Ginny's had been. This was… this was something to be wary of. It was far more powerful than any other he had encountered, save of course Ginny.

He tensed up. "We need to go. Now." His tone left no room for argument and the twins, having seen him tense up, immediately set off in the direction of, what Harry hoped was, Gryffindor Tower.

He looked around for a moment, searching for the presence he had felt in the narrow corridor. The presence was behind him, he was sure of it. "Go, Ron!" he shouted to his red-headed friend. The boy, spooked by Harry's unusual behaviour, hurried after his brothers.

Looking over his shoulder, Harry thought he saw the air shimmer slightly, a vague outline of what appeared to be a body. He squinted slightly and the image became clearer. It was of a person, he was sure, that was very tall. The person seemed to be taking great pains to remain absolutely still, hoping that perhaps Harry would not see him. He had just opened his mouth to call out—

"Harry!" shouted Ron, "Come on! You wanted to go, now let's go!" Ron and the twins were already at the end of the long corridor, the three of them having sprinted across.

Harry was looking at the spot he had felt the presence in, but during Ron's shouting the presence had managed to disappear, and Harry was no longer able to feel it. All that remained was the feeling Ron and the twins gave off. Feelings of the Light, feelings of power, but nothing, even remotely, like either this last presence, nor of Ginny's.

Reluctantly, Harry turned and set off to the end of the corridor to the Weasley boys at a much slower pace than theirs. "It's all right now," he shouted to them. "We don't have to run, anymore!"

_What, or who, was that Ginny?_ Harry asked her, hoping, despite the extreme unlikelihood of her being able to accomplish it, that she could explain everything, this presence included, to him.

_I don't know, Harry… I've felt that before, though. It's familiar… but I can't put my finger on what it was…_

"What alarmed you like that, Harry?" asked one of the twins.

"Nothing… I—I thought… it was nothing," he said lamely, unable to accurately describe to them what it was that had frightened him so without telling them more than he wanted to. He wasn't sure why he wanted this to be a secret, but he did. It was like discussing something very personal; something that he wasn't ashamed of, but something he never wanted others to know.

The twins led them up a long staircase and, almost without realising it, they were climbing up an old ladder and crawling out of a trapdoor that one of the twins, the first to go up, had muttered a word to open.

Once they were all out of the tunnel that they had walked through and had successfully climbed out of the trapdoor, Fred and George pulled out their wands and used a pulling motion to cover the trapdoor with a large rug that they must have moved before opening the trapdoor.

They made pulling motions with their wands, like the spell Harry had used on Ginny's toilet seat, and Harry noticed, with admiration, that they didn't seem to have uttered an incantation.

While one of the twins led them out a door on the opposite side of the room from the trapdoor, the other twin muttered in Harry's ear, "So far the magical movement spell is the only one we can do nonverbally. We've been practising."

After wandering through the corridors for a bit longer, they found themselves outside of the portrait of the Fat Lady—the keeper of Gryffindor Tower. She seemed to be familiar with Fred and George, because she nodded to them, "Glad to see you during the daylight hours, Misters Weasley."

Fred and George laughed, said the password ("Caput Draconis") in unison, and led Harry and Ron through the now exposed doorway and into the Gryffindor common room.

*~*

Albus Dumbledore was puzzled. An hour earlier, his Potions professor had come storming into his office, shouting about Harry Potter. It was mostly incoherent shrieking until he had managed to calm the infuriated man down.

"What troubles you, Severus?" he had asked, both amused and alarmed at the professor's antics.

"That—that Potter!" the professor had shrieked in fury.

"What is it about young Mr. Potter that has irritated you so?" he queried, steepling his hands on the desk in front of him.

"Have you tried to read him, Headmaster?" Snape asked, suddenly calm and serious.

"Severus, surely you—"

"Have you tried to read him, Headmaster?" he repeated, cutting off the headmaster mid-sentence.

"No, Severus, I have not. I have not yet had a viable opportunity," Albus Dumbledore admitted with a sigh.

"He—he is—I can't look into his mind, Professor!" the furious professor exclaimed. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that he could not read the mind of an eleven year old boy.

"Severus, surely you are mistaken?" the headmaster asked, a mildly hopeful tone in his voice.

"It's like—nothing I've ever seen, Headmaster. The boy has Occlumency blocks the like of which I have never encountered!" the professor informed him. "It… it _has_ to be Dark magic, Professor. There's no other way! Are you certain that some part of the Dark Lord did not transfer into Potter? That, perhaps, the Dark Lord is hiding inside of him?"

"Severus!" the headmaster exclaimed, shocked. "I do not believe that Lord Voldemort resides in Harry Potter's body. I—"

"But his shields, Headmaster! The boy shouldn't even be able to have them!" Snape demanded. "Only the Dark Lord has—"

"Severus! The boy has lived with Muggles these past ten years! Do you think Lord Voldemort would ever go ten years living with Muggles again? He would have killed them by now!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

"But Headmaster… his shields! How can you explain them? No child should even be _capable_ of Occlumency shields, let alone ones that could rebuff me!

"Your own prowess surpasses mine, Headmaster, I urge you to try. The boy is blocked by—something! I—I couldn't get _anything_ Headmaster. It's unnatural! I say we give the boy Veritaserum and _force_ him to tell us what he knows! He knows something, Headmaster! The Dark Lord resides in the body of that boy and Veritaserum will prove it!

"But what if the Dark Lord shields him from Veritaserum…" the professor went on, seemingly to himself and not to the headmaster before him. "Perhaps… Yes… No one can withstand it!" He looked up, "Headmaster! Perhaps I could perform the—"

"Severus!" the headmaster boomed. "No one shall have that curse cast upon them! I am confident that the boy's body is not tainted by the hosting of the Dark Lord! My sources have told me, in the last few months, where the Dark Lord currently resides! And I very much doubt that the Dark Lord has gone to Harry's family's home to possess the boy!

"I would know, Severus, if the Dark Lord tried to get to Harry! The wards that protect his home would inform me immediately! You know of this, Severus! You know that the wards at his home are the most powerful in the world! More powerful, in fact, than those that guard Hogwarts!

"Now please, return to your classroom and prepare for your next class. I will see to Mr. Potter's unusual talent at Occlumency, but I must tell you that I find it difficult to believe that his shields are as you say," the headmaster said.

"Now, good day, Severus."

The Potions professor, white in the face, nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and strode out the door, shutting it rather loudly as he exited the office.

Dumbledore sighed. He would have to find young Mr. Potter now and test his Occlumency shields.

Extracting his wand from the folds of his robes, Dumbledore pointed it at the top of his head. A look of intense concentration passed over his face as he muttered an incantation. "_Occaecototus!_" he said. And as he did, his body began to disappear slowly; it started at the top of his head and slowly, very slowly, it began to ooze down the rest of him until his entire body was completely invisible.

He strode merrily across the room and opened his door. He hummed to himself as the revolving staircase outside of his doorway led him down to the entrance of the room he was currently in.

He was almost to the stone gargoyles that would grant him entrance to the rest of the school when he stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He remained like that, absolutely still, with closed eyes, for almost a full minute before opening his eyes, grinning, and walking out passed the stone gargoyles.

He ambled through the halls and passages of Hogwarts; walking down staircases and back up only to go down once more; passing portraits that were performing any number of inane tasks, from one wizard who was discreetly picking at his nose to a witch who continuously scratched her, rather hefty, bum.

He continued to prowl the halls until he reached his target. Harry Potter was in a hidden, underground corridor with the Weasley twins and their younger brother Ron. Dumbledore chuckled soundlessly to himself at the company Harry kept.

He opened his mind, willing it to pick up on the thoughts of Harry Potter. He felt the shield that Severus had described. Severus Snape was quite right, Dumbledore discovered, Harry's shields were powerful. Dumbledore applied a bit more force, trying to peer into Harry's mind. Then the boy whipped around.

Harry peered about the corridor with suspicion in his eyes, he had evidently felt Dumbledore's mental prod. He froze as the boy's gaze moved right to him.

Dumbledore stayed that way, completely frozen, until the Harry's name was called out by the youngest Weasley boy. The moment Harry turned his back to him, Dumbledore moved through a passageway to his left, hidden by a tapestry, and entered a small room.

_The boy's defences are incredible!_ Albus Dumbledore concluded. _But how? Is it as Severus says? Could Voldemort be residing in Harry's mind? One cannot even learn Occlumency at Harry's age… the mind simply hasn't enough discipline at so early an age! Perhaps… Tom, what have you done?_

*~*

Several hours later Harry and Ron were lying in the common room, their hands supporting their heads, as they played a game of chess. When Harry agreed to play, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Ron was trouncing him. Harry had managed to take three of Ron's pieces, while Ron had captured a dozen of Harry's. It was a slaughter. Harry's troops wouldn't listen to him at all (for in wizard's chess the pieces had minds of their own) and would frequently give him bad advice.

Ron's pieces were listening to him and following every instruction as if his commands were set in stone. They never once disobeyed and it was evident to the four people watching the game (three of whom were physically present) that Harry stood no chance against Ron's superior strategising was rendering Harry's forces' best efforts completely futile.

Harry thought that he wouldn't be doing quite so bad if Percy wasn't trying to give him advice at every turn. It was quite obvious to everyone, Harry included, that Percy hadn't the faintest hint what he was doing.

Ginny, too, was of no help. Her mother was having her help with dinner and she knew better than to try playing chess while cooking with oil, lest she experience her mother's wrath once more.

Ron had done as he had done the entire game; he took another of Harry's chessmen. "Did you have to take my queen, Ron?" Harry asked miserably.

Ron just grinned. "No mercy, mate."

Harry glared at him. Their eyes locking. _Wish I knew what he was going to do… make this whole thing go a lot easier,_ Harry thought to Ginny, still glaring into Ron's eyes.

And then it was like a window had opened in Ron's mind. He saw what Ron was going to do next turn. Indeed, he saw what Ron was going to do in the next six turns and Harry saw, with dread, that it was going to end in Harry's being checkmated.

Harry smirked as he looked back on to the board, no longer seeing Ron's plans. He was quite shocked to find he could see Ron's moves… was he a mind reader? He immediately began to put pieces in motion that would impede Ron's plans. Harry thought that now that he knew what Ron was going to do, he could beat him.

_You can read minds, Harry?_ Ginny asked him in awe. She had ceased her cooking and was now staring at an inconspicuous spot in the ceiling of the kitchen.

_Er—I guess so… I don't know how I did it… it jut kind of… happened?_ Harry offered weakly, embarrassed that he could do something like this, even if he did think it was rather brilliant that he could see into Ron's mind.

_Wicked,_ was Ginny's response before her mother began clucking about, asking why she wasn't preparing the food she was assigned to make.

Harry and Ron continued to play their game of chess for another hour before Harry finally was defeated. It was much closer than it had been before, however, so Harry was fairly pleased with himself.

"What are you smilies about, Harry? You lost!" Fred exclaimed when he caught sight of the look on Harry's face.

"Yeah, but I held him off, didn't I?" asked Harry, a glint of something like triumph in his eye.

"Yeah, mate, I thought I was going to have you a long time ago, but then you suddenly started playing like you knew what you were doing," Ron said. "I mean, you even blocked a few of the moves I was going to make!"

Harry just grinned at him in a way that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. Ron didn't interpret it, but Harry thought Percy and the twins might have.

"Quite a good game, Harry," Percy said, patting him on the back. "I knew you wouldn't go down easily!"

Behind Percy's back the twins were making a show of strangling each other.

Harry laughed at the twins' antics, but Percy must have misinterpreted it, because he suddenly got an angry look on his face and was about to retort when Ron pointed out the twins to him.

"You two! You can never take anything seriously!" Percy nearly shouted at the twins, who continued to kill one another with large grins on their faces, as if there was nothing in the world they'd rather be doing than commit murder most foul.

Suddenly the twins stopped, looks of grim seriousness on their faces. "Why would we want to do that? It'd take the fun out of life," the said in unanimity.

*~*

Dinner that night was a raucous affair. Harry, Ron, and the Twins went down to the Great Hall together and sat at one end of the Gryffindor table, across from them was a black boy that Harry recognised from the train, a black girl that Harry was unfamiliar with, and a blonde-haired girl that Harry also didn't know.

"Harry, this is Lee Jordan, our partner in crime," Fred informed him, motioning toward the black boy. "That's Angelina Johnson," he pointed to the black girl, who smiled at Harry in hello. "And that's Alicia Spinnet," he motioned to the last girl.

"Lee, Angelina, Alicia, this is Harry Potter," George said with a flourish of his arms.

"Hullo," he said, nodding to each of them good-naturedly.

"These two," Fred pointed at the two girls, "are on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with us. And Lee here," he pointed to Lee, "commentates."

"Play much Quidditch, Harry? Ron?" asked Angelina Johnson.

"Raised by Muggles," Harry responded as a way of decline.

"All the time," Ron said, puffing his chest out a little. Harry, trying to keep from bursting out laughing, turned to look at the twins with an odd look on his face. The twins looked repulsed at their brother.

"Okay little brother, why don't you feed yourself now?" said Fred.

Ron's ears went scarlet, but he did just that and began piling food on his plate.

The twins, seeing that Ron was thoroughly occupied with his kidney pie, leaned over and said quietly and in unison, "Harry here," they jabbed identical thumbs in his direction, "is our protégé."

Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Lee Jordan all had expressions of surprise and shock on their faces.

"But—but you said you were going to take on Ginny! Didn't you say she was your natural successor? That she could surpass you two one day? And then you went and took on Harry Potter? Your mum is going to have dragons if she ever finds out about this!" Lee Jordan exclaimed in a loud whisper.

"Shh! Shut up!" whispered George, looking at Ron with caution. "Ron doesn't know! You know how he gets jealous about things! And yes! We took on Harry. But we're still going to take on Ginny, too. She and Harry met on the platform—"

"And got rather lovey-dovey with the hand-holding!" Fred added teasingly.

"Yes, yes, that too, but regardless. We're going to take them both on. Lee, do you remember that one time we went into the library last year?" asked George.

"Yeah! I was amazed that you too actually wanted to go to the library!" Lee said jokingly, though Harry suspected it wasn't a joke. He couldn't see the twins as being in a place like a library where mayhem and chaos was outlawed.

"It was the only time, too," Angelina muttered to Alicia, but Harry caught it and chuckled appreciatively.

"Well, we found this," he pulled out a piece of parchment from the breast pocket of his robes, while glancing at Ron to make sure he hadn't noticed, "in one of the old school record books."

Harry believing the slip of parchment to be the same one the twins had shown him on the train the day before asked them, "Do you guys carry that around with you _everywhere_ you go?"

"You carry what with you?" asked Ron through a mouthful of treacle tart.

"Er—nothing, Ron!" the twins said in unison as Fred grabbed the slip of parchment from Lee's hands. "Is that treacle tart?" Fred asked, trying to move him back to the subject of food.

"Fred, what is on that bit of parchment?" he asked, his speech no longer impeded by food. He might have just let it go before, but now that they were denying him something and trying to make him look foolish to boot—well, he was going to get that parchment.

Fred discreetly handed Harry the listing and his meaning was clear: _Get rid of it!_

Harry carefully, so as not to attract Ron's suspicion, wedged the slip into one of his trouser pockets.

"What bit of parchment, dear brother?" asked Fred innocently. "I see no parchment. Do you, Harry?"

"No. No I definitely don't see any parchment, Ron."

_Yes, but if you were to dig into your pocket…_ Ginny reminded him laughingly.

Ron's ears turned red and he turned on his heel and exited the hall as fast as he could without running.

Harry gave a forlorn sigh. "S'pose he'll forget about it by tomorrow?" he asked the twins.

"Yeah," provided George, "he never remembers stuff like this long enough to be mad about it. Besides, it's a stupid thing, really."

"Do you still have the parchment?" asked Fred.

"Yeah," Harry said as he pulled it from his pocket. "But why is it so important? I mean, we know what's on there."

"We want to use a copying spell on it," supplied George, "and then we can get rid of it. But we want to have a record of this—something to compare our own records to," the red-head explained to Harry.

Fred, when George had finished speaking, leant over and whispered in Harry's ear, "We want you to show us some more nonverbal magic and tonight's pretty ideal; we already got Ron out of the way."

Harry nodded and muttered back, "Okay, but you guys have to show me some spells afterwards."

Fred nodded in agreement to Harry's terms and began to shovel food onto his plate, as Ron had done earlier that evening.

Harry decided it would be a good idea to do likewise and began to pile chicken onto his plate.

*~*

Harry and the twins were now standing in the middle of an empty classroom on the seventh floor. "How do you guys find all these places? I can't find my way to classes—and I've got a map on the back of my class list!" Harry exclaimed. He had no idea how they could possibly find deserted classrooms when he struggled to find the loo from his dormitory.

The twins exchanged a glance. "Well, we certainly don't have a map, that's for sure," they said at the same time, slightly guilty looks on their faces.

Harry eyed them for a moment. _They've got a map._

_Yes, I think you're probably right. They don't usually look that suspicious—even when they're up to something they don't usually look like that. Though, there was that one time when they cast a hair-growth charm on Bill… Merlin was Mum mad about that. And then when Bill decided to keep it…_ Ginny said, an image of Bill and his long, red hair came to Harry's mind, _They looked really guilty when they did that, but they did seem a bit pleased with themselves. Well, they did until Mum started laying into them…_

Harry smiled. "Okay guys," he said, ignoring the fact that they were obviously hiding something from him, "what can you do?"

Fred and George instantly reached into their robes and pulled out their wands. Fred handed his wand to George, who immediately began to juggle them. Fred, meanwhile, was starting to do a handstand—

"No!" Harry said, laughing, "I meant what _magic_ can you do nonverbally!"

Harry could feel Ginny laughing without restraint in his mind.

"Oh," George said, seemingly put out, "Well, we've only really gotten the Movement Charm down… You saw that in the Gryffindor Entrance to the Four Corners' Passageway… Other than that…" he shrugged.

"Is that what that place is called? The Four Corners' Passageway?" Harry asked, curious.

"Yeah," Fred responded, "It goes under nearly all of Hogwarts. We followed it to the harbor once; you remember than cave you had to go through to get to the castle? It goes there, but it's really extensive; we haven't explored all of it yet."

"We call it the Four Corners' Passageway because it leads to all of the common rooms," George said before Harry could ask.

_We're exploring that when I get there,_ Ginny stated. Harry mentally nodded in agreement; he wanted to explore it, too.

"But enough of that," Fred said.

"—teach us some nonverbal magic!" finished George.

"Er—okay, well… let's see," Harry started to think of a spell that they could practise with; he wanted it to be a simple one, one from his first year spellbooks.

"Okay, try the Lighting Charm," Harry said. "I was just following the steps on how to make magic work when I first did it, so… I dunno; just do everything normally except think the incantation instead of saying it."

Harry watched as the twins' faces scrunched up in concentration, their wands held outward. The twins' eyes were closed and from the steady reddening of their faces, Harry didn't think they were breathing.

"Okay, try breathing first. I heard you have to have air in your lungs so your brain can function" Harry said, trying to keep the humour from showing in his voice.

"Okay stop," Harry said when, after a few minutes, the twins were unable to make their wands light up at all.

The twins, with sweat on their formerly furrowed brows, looked up at Harry helplessly. "Like I said, I don't really know how to do it the other way, so I can't tell you what to do very well. Maybe you should just ask one of the professors to help you do it?"

The twins looked aghast. "Extra lessons with professors? Are you mad?" asked Fred, incredulous.

"What do you think we are? Twin Percys?" George shivered in terror at the very thought.

"There are some things you just don't joke about, brother mine!" Fred said, scandalised.

"Alright, alright!" Harry said loudly, getting the point that they wouldn't be taking extra classes.

_Any bright ideas, Ginny?_ Harry asked, hopeful.

He felt Ginny's head shake in the negative, _Sorry Harry, nothing._

"Just… just try again with _Lumos_, okay?"

And the twins tried again. Each time they attempted the nonverbal magic, they failed. For two straight hours they practised and Harry was impressed by their will to keep going despite the discouragement of their failure.

"Okay, guys, I think that's it. Keep trying on your own and we'll work on it again next time, all right?" Harry offered. He didn't really understand why it was so much harder for the twins to grasp the nonverbal magic than it was for him, he thought that perhaps the twins were too used to using magic vocally.

The twins gave identical sighs of despondency. "All right, maybe you'll have better luck learning these spells than we have at nonverbal magic…" said George miserably.

"You'll get it eventually, but like you said: Percy isn't even able to do it, and he tries all the time," Harry encouraged.

"Now, on to your end of the deal." Harry was most anxious to learn some spells that Hermione Granger wouldn't know. A bit of one-upmanship never hurt anyone, did it?

"Okay, well… What type of spells do you want to learn? Shield spells? Jinxes, hexes, curses? Charms? Et cetera…" offered George.

"Er—how about a shield spell?" Harry asked, not quite sure where to start.

"Okay, well the most basic one we know—Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, taught us this one—is called the _Obtego_ shield. There's a few other, more advanced shields spells, but we don't get taught them in class until fourth year. Another that we do know is called the _Defendo_ shield, Charlie told us about that one, but we're not as good with that one as the other, though it is more powerful than _Obtego_" George informed him.

"We'll start with the _Obtego_ and if you can get it good enough we'll try the _Defendo_, all right, Harry?" Fred asked.

Harry was nervous about this, he thought it might mean that Fred and George were going to be shooting spells at him for him to block… but if he couldn't block the spell… "Yeah, sounds good. Are you going to have to…er—shoot spells at me? To test my shield, I mean," Harry added, making sure the twins didn't see it is an invitation to start hexing him wherever he went.

"Don't worry. We'll use weak spells," Fred turned to his twin for confirmation before continuing, "and it won't be anything that hurts."

Harry, a little reassured, nodded. "All right," he said. "So what do I do?"

"Okay, Harry, this is what you do," George explained, "Hold your wand in front of you and say—well, in your case think—the word Obtego. While your doing it, feel the magic that you normally use for thing like the Levitation Charm, but try and channel it into your shield. The stronger the shield is, the more brightly coloured it will be.

"Just try it now, without us shooting spells at you first, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and began to concentrate. Every time he cast a spell he could feel the magic moving through his fingers and into his wand. It was very faint, but Professor McGonagall had explained that it would be until they became used to doing it. Harry furrowed his brow in concentration and thought, _Obtego!_ while trying to push the magic through his arms and into his wand.

He had his eyes shut tight as he concentrated and he could feel his body shaking very slightly from the effort of forcing the spell's required magic. Slowly, very slowly, a faintly red—perhaps pinker than red—barrier seemed to come between him and the twins.

Harry felt the barrier, rather than saw it. Small beads of sweat began to form on his head as he tried to both strengthen and maintain the shield. After a moment, he was hunched over, momentarily fatigued from the effort.

Panting slightly, Harry looked up at the twins, "How—how'd I do?"

"That was good, Harry!" one of the twins, George perhaps, remarked. "I doubt it could have withstood more than one spell, but it was definitely a good first try! It took me and Fred a few tries before we could get it to work at all."

"Yeah, Harry," Fred this time, "Try it again."

Harry nodded to the twins before straightening himself fully. Trying to summon his magic to his wand again, Harry thought furiously, _Obtego!_ It happened more readily this time; the flow of magic, still very slow, came quicker this time.

The red shield was deeper in colour and more solid-looking this time than before, though it was still pinker than it was red, which was what the shield should look like, ideally.

Harry concentrated on keeping the shield up for as long as he could, but after only half a minute he was on one knee, breathing heavily.

"Much better, Harry! I think that could have taken a few spells before it collapsed. Now granted, it doesn't work with more powerful spells, but the spells that most of your classmates might cast on you would be blocked pretty easily," George said.

"All right, Harry, this time I'm going to try and break through your shield with the Disarming Charm, okay? It won't hurt you or anything; it will just make your wand go soaring. I saw Oliver make someone fly across the room with it once, but Fred and I aren't powerful enough for that, yet."

"Okay," Harry said, "But if I go flying across the room, it's you who has to answer for it," Harry warned him.

"Okay, Harry, I'm going to count to three and then fire off the spell, okay?" Fred said, apparently not wanting to anger the boy who vanquished the Dark Lord when he was only a baby.

Harry nodded his acquiescence.

"1—"

"2—"

"3!"

_Obtego!_ Harry thought quickly. He forced the magic to his wand faster than he had before and was surrounded in the front by the red glow, still pinker than anything else, more quickly than he had previously. Unfortunately, because he had rushed the shield, it was less potent than its immediate predecessor.

"_Expelliarmus!_" shouted Fred. A bolt of red light shot out of his wand and raced toward Harry's shield. When the two impacted, the shield seemed to fizzle slightly.

"Give it more power, Harry!" George shouted to him.

Harry's forehead crinkled and he forced even more of his magic into the shield spell, it seemed to buckle backwards before pushing Fred's spell back and canceling it out entirely.

The twins let out identical whoops as they ran toward Harry to slap him on the back. "Brilliant, Harry! I'll bet no one else in your year has done that!"

"You're teaching me some of the others tomorrow," Harry told them, leaving no room for argument, "because I'm dead tired right now."

*~*

Harry was lying in his bed an hour later, talking to Ginny. They talked of inconsequential subjects for most of the conversation, until Ginny asked a question that made the entire discussion gain a serious tone.

_Harry?_ she asked him quietly, _How is it that we can do this? Talk with our minds, I mean. I mean, I've heard of a lot of things from Bill and Charlie and from Mum and Dad, but I've never heard of two people touching each other's hands and suddenly being able to speak with their minds…_

Harry sighed, _I dunno, Ginny. I've been wondering that too… We're just lucky, I guess…_ There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. He did consider himself lucky to be able to speak with Ginny the way that he could.

_All I know is that we can… and I don't think I'd change it for anything. I mean, I came into the wizarding world afraid that I'd be horribly behind everyone else, because I'd lived with the Dursleys all my life, but now… Now I've got a witch in my head and… I'm just thankful, I guess._ Harry explained. A moment later he could have kicked himself for mentioning the Dursleys to Ginny.

_Harry?_ Ginny began tentatively once more, _What did the Dursleys do to you? Really? I know that you don't like them… but I think there's more to it than them just not liking you…_

Harry sighed once more. _The Dursleys… They—they're not good people, Gin. They… I've never talked to anyone about this before…_ he sighed again, _Until Hogwarts tried to get in touch with me, they made me live in a cupboard under their stairs._

_If Uncle Vernon had a bad day at work, he would yell at me… if it was bad enough, he'd hit me sometimes… but I deserved it!_ he exclaimed when he felt her begin to express her outrage, _I would say something or I'd get in his way… and he'd hit me. I—I couldn't fight back…_

_I just… I couldn't. He's so much bigger than me and…_ Harry sighed deeply yet again. _I ducked, sometimes. I'd dodge him or do something that would make it impossible for him to hit me… But I could never stop him for long… What he wanted, he got._

_And I was a freak—they used to remind me of that every day—and if I didn't do as they said, Uncle Vernon would hit me, lock me in the cupboard, and tell me I wouldn't get meals for a week. And… he was as bad as his word… I've had to go two weeks without food or water before… I don't even know how I lived through it… I just… I did._

_When I was younger… I—_, Harry's voice, even in his mind, broke, _I used to dream that… that I would die. So I could see my Mum and Dad… And I didn't just dream… I tried to… more than once…_

_I remember one time: I'd just drank some of Aunt Petunia's bleach that she made me use to clean the kitchen with… it had said on the back of the bottle that it was… that it was fatal. I'd—I'd hoped that if I drank it—if I drank it, then I'd be with Mum and Dad… and the Dursleys wouldn't be there to tell me what to do or for Uncle Vernon to hit me or… or anything._ Harry felt his own tears on his face and wiped them away ashamedly. It didn't matter that Ginny couldn't see his tears—he knew that she would be able to tell.

_Dudley… one time when I was in the cupboard… I hadn't been let out in about a week, so I was really thirsty and hungry… well, Dudley doesn't like me much… he really doesn't like me much. Well, one time he let me out of my cupboard when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were out shopping for Christmas presents for Dudley…_

_I'd thought he had decided to be nice to me… but I was wrong. He said for me to get out of the cupboard, I was so excited… I was never let out of my cupboard early._

_Dudley had some of his mates from school with him… and they grabbed me and dragged me up the stairs… They pulled me into the loo and… well, they did what I always saw happen to kids on television. They picked me up and stuck my head in the toilet… I'm sure Dudley thought it was a great gag, having me in his toilet… but they held me in for half a minute, and I was never good at holding my breath, and I swallowed some…_

_They held me under and the last thing I remembered was everything going dark. When Uncle Vernon came home, he found me in the bathroom passed out. He was enraged that I was out of my cupboard… Dudley told him that I had picked the lock on the door and had slipped on the floor of the loo._

_Then Dudley made this really pathetic sound, like a wounded dog… and said he was scared. Scared that I'd died or something._

_Uncle Vernon was angrier than I'd seen him in a long time… he—he yelled at me for scaring Dudley and for going out of my cupboard… he locked me in for a week after that… and I think he broke my arm when he threw me in…_

_I was—I was always good at healing… you know, if I broke my wrist or something… it's be better in a week or so… No one at school ever even bothered to check up on me if I was gone for a week. I found out later that Aunt Petunia had told the people at the school that I'd gone to a counselor._

_I hate it there, Gin. It's… it's terrible. I don't want to leave Hogwarts… it doesn't matter if I don't know how to get around here… people—they stare at me here, but not because they dislike me, like the Dursleys did._

_I never had a friend until I met Hagrid… never once. I think the magical world is the only place that is ever going to feel right to me…_

It was then that Harry felt Ginny crying. He had never encountered a crying girl before, but he had seen on television what he was supposed to do. He gathered all of the good-feelings and comfort that he could and pushed it through their link to her side.

And the night continued that way for many more hours. Harry would answer Ginny's questions about life with the Dursleys and the two would comfort each other when things became too emotion for either.

Harry could just see the beginnings of dawn creeping over the horizon when he yawned deeply and said to her, _Good night, Ginevra,,_ remembering what her mother had yelled at her.

_Good night, Harry._

**A/N:**_Well, that's eleven. "We hope you've enjoyed your stay / It's good to have you with us / Even if it's just for the day...." Any thoughts, feel free to leave them._


	12. Chapter 12: The Room of Erised

**Chapter Twelve  
The Room of Erised **

Harry awoke the next morning feeling lighter, less weighed-down, than he could remember ever feeling. He had never spoken of what the Dursleys had done to him to anyone else, but he felt better, much better, now that Ginny knew. He didn't want to keep things from her if he could avoid it.

Harry would have been terrified just yesterday at the prospect of baring his soul completely to anyone, but if it had to be someone, Ginny was easily the best choice. But now, looking back, he was glad that he had told her. Her knowing such things made his life easier in a lot of ways. And to have this one secret, one of his most protected and darkest, off his chest made the entire world seem brighter, better in some way that would never be known to anyone else.

He didn't think he could ever tell someone like Ron what had happened, though. He was ashamed of the weakness he had shown in front of Ginny, someone who he knew wouldn't look down on him for it, and he imagined it would be much worse around one of his 'mates'. Harry just didn't think that Ron was one for such sentimentalities.

_Morning, Harry James,_ Ginny said in his mind, teasingly, with a mental yawn. Harry didn't blame her; the two of them hadn't succumbed to sleep until just a couple of hours previous.

_Morning, Ginevra Molly,_ Harry said, chuckling to himself slightly. He thought Molly was an unusual name to have for a middle name, but then, Harry reminded himself, he didn't have that much experience with middle names, let alone wizarding ones. For that matter, Harry thought Ginevra was an odd first name, though he rather liked it.

_I hate it when people call me Ginevra, you know. Mum only ever does it when I'm in trouble and Fred and George only say it to get me angry; Percy does it when he's feeling particularly better than the rest of us… _ she told him.

_Oh,_ Harry said, embarrassed, _I'll erm—stop then._

_No! I mean—um— you don't have to. It's different when you say it…_ she said, blushing. _Just don't call me that when people can hear you… So next year it's Ginny unless we're talking like… well, like this,_ she said, giggling. _The twins would be awful with their teasing if they heard you call me that…_ Harry could feel her pale as she said this.

He laughed, _Okay, Ginevra, not out loud, then._ He savoured her name as he said it, feeling the trills down his spine. Harry didn't understand it, but it made him feel good to be allowed to call her something than no one else was permitted to.

Unfortunately, Harry's laugh woke up Ron. "Mate, what are you laughing about so early?" he grumbled, disgruntled.

"Er—nothing, Ron," Harry responded, making a show of rubbing his eyes to show that he, too, was tired. He was tired, it was true, but the exaggeration was for Ron's benefit.

Harry was relieved that Ron had, apparently, forgotten about his anger toward Harry and the twins last night when they wouldn't let him see the parchment with Harry's dad's records on it.

"What time is it?" Ron asked as Harry heard him roll onto his side, trying to ward off what little bit of waking he could.

Harry looked at Dudley's old wristwatch, it read six twenty-two, but Harry knew that Dudley's watch was an hour and three minutes off. "It's seven twenty-five, Ron, we should get up."

Harry grabbed his pillow and threw it at the four-poster bed next to him. "Neville! Wake up!"

Neville, who had been snoring loudly, jerked awake, sat up, and looked around the dormitory in a daze. "Whattime sit?" he asked the air around him.

"Seven twenty-five, Neville, or we'll be late to classes, forget about breakfast." Classes started at eight every weekday and Harry doubted he would be able to shower and find his way to his class without being late.

"No breakfast?" Ron asked, outraged. As the three got out of bed (Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan must have gotten up earlier without waking the other three), Ron exclaimed, "I guess there's no time for a shower, then," and promptly went out the door to, presumably, the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry shook his head. He had only known Ron for a couple of days, but he could tell that his appetite would become legendary. He wondered if Ginevra ate like he did.

_I don't, thanks!_ she said, feigning offence. _No one eats like Ron._

Harry laughed out loud. Neville's head shot up, "What's so funny, Harry?" he asked timidly. Neville was a shy, clumsy boy who seemed uncomfortable doing with so much as talking.

"Er… nothing, Neville. Just a stray thought," Harry supplied weakly. Neville seemed to accept this readily enough as Harry headed into the bathroom for a shower.

************

Harry ran into his Charms classroom, thoroughly out of breath. "Sorry I'm late, Professor," he gasped out. He had gotten lost four times on his way to class and, as a result, was four minutes late to his class.

"Quite all right, Mr. Potter!" squeaked out the tiny Charms professor, Professor Flitwick, who was standing atop a large stack of books. "But do please try to arrive on time next class."

"Yes, of course, Professor," Harry replied politely.

"Now, Mr. Potter, before you joined us I had asked the class to retrieve their copies of Adalbert Waffling's _Magical Theory_, so if you would please find a seat and open your own copy, we might begin" Professor Flitwick instructed.

The Gryffindors had Charms with the Ravenclaws and, because of this, Harry didn't know many of the people in the room. Indeed, the only person Harry knew who didn't have a partner at their table was Hermione Granger.

He gave her a small smile as he sat down next to her and she returned it with a large grin. Harry felt bad for her. He suspected that she was the type of person who probably didn't have many friends and her seating in the room (at the very front and all by herself) cemented this suspicion.

"Hello; it's Hermione, isn't it?" he asked quietly as he sat down.

"Yes; hello, Harry," she said, smiling warmly.

Harry quickly pulled out his copy of _Magical Theory_.

"Now," tiny Professor Flitwick began, "if everyone would please turn to page three, we may begin." The sound of rustling and turning pages filled the classroom for a moment before it ceased, almost as one, leaving the room in complete silence. It was an eerie silence; one that seemed to be both deafening and utterly tranquil. It was as though not a soul was so much as breathing in fear of breaking the silence.

And then the doors opened. Huffing and puffing, Ron and Neville came charging into the classroom. "Sorry we're—late, Professor," Ron managed to get out, his entire face rather red. Though whether this was from embarrassment or from his evident hurry to make it to class was undetermined.

"Now boys," Flitwick began, "You will need to get here on time; we can't have you missing the first ten minutes of class everyday. I'm afraid I will have to take away a point from each of you," Professor Flitwick seemed saddened at the prospect. "Because it is your first class, it won't be more, but in my class you must arrive on time."

Ron looked thoroughly abashed and Neville looked as though he wanted to curl into a corner and die. "Now boys, please take your seats, take out your copy of _Magical Theory_, and turn to page three," Flitwick instructed.

Ron meekly sat next to a brown-haired Ravenclaw boy while Neville sat next to a brown-haired Ravenclaw girl whose name, Harry thought, was Susan Bones.

Harry looked down at page three of _Magical Theory_ and recognised it as the page that he had been looking at the day during the summer when he cast the Levitation charm on accident.

"Now," the professor began, "One of the simplest spells known to wizard-kind is the Levitation charm. If you will all look at page three, you will see that the diagram shows that you must move your wand in a swishing and flicking motion, like thus." Professor Flitwick pulled out his own wand, waved it to the right and then to the left before bringing it up and flicking it down. The book he was sitting on, which he had pointed his wand in the direction of, began to rise up with the professor standing atop it.

"Now, it is much more difficult to raise an object with a great deal of magical mass than it is to raise, for instance, a feather. Can anyone tell me why?" the professor asked kindly.

Harry and Hermione's hands both went up instantly. _I know this one!_ Harry thought to Ginny enthusiastically.

Flitwick beamed at them. "Well, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid that I will have to let Miss Granger answer this one, due to your tardiness, but if you are first with my next question, I will not work against you. Now, Miss Granger, why is a massive object more difficult to raise than this feather?" he held a feather in his hand.

"The magical mass of the object to be raised will resist the magic from your Levitation charm, Professor. The feather has less mass that most other objects and this makes it easier to levitate," Hermione said, smiling and confident.

"Excellent, Miss Granger! Truly excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor!" the professor exclaimed. Hermione turned a deep shade of red, but she smiled widely nonetheless. "Every object, as you will know if you had read some of your _Magical Theory_ over the summer, contains magical mass. Everything, you, me, Hogwarts even, contains some amount of magical mass.

"Now, an object that has been charmed already will not have its magical mass affected in any way, because magical mass cannot be altered. Now, who could tell me why Mr. Potter would be very difficult to levitate?"

Harry and Hermione's hands shot up once more. The tiny Charms professor chuckled. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"It would be difficult to raise me because, as a wizard, I have much more magical mass than your book or feather. I have more magic in me, in my core, and that translates to more magical mass," Harry answered, satisfied that he knew he was right. The look on Professor Flitwick's face told him as much without earning verbal confirmation.

"Wonderful, Mr. Potter, wonderful! Another ten points to Gryffindor!" Harry smiled.

_And you thought you'd be hopeless at magic! First you block spells from the twins, cast nonverbal magic, and then explain something to do with magical mass that I don't even understand!_ Ginevra praised. Harry blushed lightly at her words.

"Who can tell me what would happen if I were to attempt to raise Hogwarts with a Levitation charm?" asked the diminutive professor.

Harry and Hermione's hands rose once again, though theirs were the only ones. Professor Flitwick's smile widened and his eyebrows rose. He chuckled, "Yes, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger have an excellent grasp on things, but can anyone _else_ tell me what would happen?

"No? Very well then, Miss Granger, the floor is yours," he said with a wave of his hands and a slight bow.

"Nothing would happen, Professor. Hogwarts wouldn't move," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it certainly would not. Five points to Gryffindor." The Gryffindors were all fairly pleased with the situation, they were earning a great deal of points and most of the class was doing absolutely nothing.

Harry slowly raised his hand. Professor Flitwick looked very surprised. "Yes, Mr. Potter? Have you something to add?"

_I hope I don't look like a fool here… this wasn't mentioned in the book,_ Harry confided in Ginny.

"Er—If you put enough power into it… couldn't someone raise Hogwarts? But if you didn't have enough power to… wouldn't you experience a magical burnout?" Harry asked hesitantly. He was going out on a limb here.

Professor Flitwick looked very impressed. "Why—why yes, Mr. Potter. I suppose one could, if they had the necessary power, lift Hogwarts. But no one has ever exhibited such power—Merlin Ambrosius couldn't have done it. But yes… I do suppose it would be possible. Though if you were to put in so much power, and it would require a great deal of magic, I find it difficult to believe you would not experience a complete magical burn out. You might never be able to cast a spell again, should you try.

"Thirty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for asking a question for which I do not have a firm answer," Harry beamed widely, though he was blushing slightly. "This, class, is what I would like to see from you all! Mr. Potter has just raised an excellent question; I would like for you all to follow his example in the future. If there is something regarding the possibilities of magic that you do not understand, by all means ask what is possible in this class."

Beside him, Hermione Granger was shooting him a look of both admiration and jealousy. She, apparently, did not like Harry stealing her thunder, though she was unable to hide the fact that she was impressed.

Ron, however, looked somewhere between mortified that Harry knew such things, for if Harry were an intellectual, he might actually expect Ron to study… and pure happiness that he had shown up Hermione Granger, who he still spoke ill of when someone was willing to listen.

Harry correctly read his face. _She's not _that_ bad!_ Ginny insisted, _Granted, we really haven't had a conversation with her yet, but she doesn't really go out of her way to make trouble… Ron's just got his knickers in a twist—I wonder if they're the ones that Fred and George charmed into a pair of Mum's? That could explain a lot…_ Harry could feel the grin in her voice. He grinned in response; luckily he would not look too odd smiling at the moment, he had just earned his house thirty points, after all.

_Ooh!_ Ginny said in Harry's mind. _I think I just found out why Mum's been in a foul mood all day. She walked past my door and I heard her say something to herself about Errol collapsing this morning. She probably wanted to send the twins a Howler, but Errol can't make the delivery!_

Harry smiled a little wider at this. He wasn't looking forward to the swift retribution of the notorious Molly Weasley; the twins and Ron had both told Harry, to some length, about their mother's temper. He had experienced it through Ginny and had to agree that hers was a mighty temper.

"Now, if everyone would please read pages three through ten and practise the wand movement for the Levitation charm for homework, you may be dismissed early," the minute Charms professor said to the students there. "What you do not finish reading in class, you will do for homework, and if you finish reading before class is dismissed I encourage you to practise the nice swish and flick movement!" he squeaked.

For the next twenty minutes the only sounds that were made in the classroom was that of the turning page. Harry could feel Ginny concentrating on his Charms text as he read it. Harry and Ginny had a nearly constantly running conversation and it had only really ceased during Transfiguration, and now Charms.

Harry supposed that Ginevra was trying to get a head-start on the competition next year, and just maybe giving her brothers some female Weasley justice, by studying his books.

_I wish we were in the same year,_ Harry sighed fifteen minutes after he began to read from his book. He had read it before, but he figured that doing so again could only help him. _We could be pulling pranks… On Malfoy or just…_ Unspoken or not, Ginevra understood the sentiment.

Harry had spilled his soul to her the night before and her absolute acceptance of him, accompanied by neither pity nor repulsion, had strengthened their feelings for each other. Harry could hear her thoughts more clearly and feel her feelings more plainly. He could see, hear, and smell things that she could (and, oh, did her mother's pies smell good), but at the same time he was perfectly aware of those same senses in his body.

_Yeah,_ Ginevra commiserated. _I'll be there next year,_ she said rather bleakly. Harry thought that she must have picked up on his thoughts because—_Yeah, I'm catching your thoughts, all right,_ she said with a laugh. Harry felt a shiver in his spine at the sound of her tinkling laughter.

Harry nearly laughed then. It would appear that he would never get any semblance of privacy ever again. And the odd thing was that he didn't mind at all. It wasn't like on Privet Drive where he would hide away from anyone who came near him, in fear of what his uncle would do to him for mingling with 'normal folk'. He shied, if anything, closer toward Ginny after he had told her his deepest, most desperate secrets.

Harry, remembering Professor Flitwick's instructions, pulled out his wand and began to practise the movements. He was very careful not to think of the incantation or of the feather floating; he didn't want Hermione Granger to badger him about it and Harry was fairly certain that she would if she knew.

After five minutes of absently swishing and flicking his wand—Professor Flitwick had told him that he was doing excellently, despite his lack of focus—the bell rang, ending Harry's first class of the day.

Harry picked up his bag from under his seat where he had deposited it upon his arrival, stood up, and exited the classroom with Ron and Hermione just behind him.

_I think I like Charms class,_ Harry said to Ginny through their mind-link.

Vocally, he expressed the same sentiment to Ron and Hermione. Hermione was feeling odd walking with two people who she really didn't know very well, or so Harry presumed was the reason that she seemed slightly flustered. But then, it could have simply been the effect of the glares that Ron would periodically cast at her.

As they walked down the stairs that Harry hoped would take them to the Great Hall for lunch, they heard a sneering voice call out behind them. "Hey, Potter! I didn't know you could sink any lower than a Weasley," he spat the name as if it were a disgusting curse word, which was ironic as the next phrase he uttered contained one of said curse words, "But here you are, prancing around the school with a _Mudblood_."

Harry spun on his heel and had his wand drawn in half a second. He had practised drawing it, as if he were from a Muggle western film, all summer. Ginny had told him what Mudblood meant and it disgusted Harry that this git would call someone, whom he had likely never had as much as a conversation with, such a name.

_Expelliarmus!_ he intoned in his head as he turned around. He had been thinking about his impromptu lessons with the twins when Malfoy had spoken up, so it was the first spell that came into his mind.

A jet of brilliant red light streaked out of his wand and jetted toward the shock-faced Draco Malfoy. Ron, whose reflexes weren't quite as good as Harry's evading Dudley and his buffoons tuned ones, shot sparks at Malfoy half a second after Harry had gotten off his spell.

The result was Malfoy being relieved of his wand, thrown off of his feet, and getting a hole burnt in the buttock of his pants. He sat up quickly and searched desperately for his wand. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, weren't with him today and that was his first mistake. The second was opening his mouth.

"I thought you would have learnt your lesson on the train, Malfoy," Harry literally snarled at the blonde-haired boy. "If you ever call _anyone_ that name again you will have to worry about more than just sparks and a Disarming charm. Do you understand me?"

_Oh God, Gin… I sound just like—him,_ Harry thought to Ginny as he paled considerably. Harry's mind filled with images of his childhood; of Uncle Vernon's beatings. Ginny's mind was filled with them too; viewing them in a horrible, secondhand way. Harry vaguely registered the tears that began to form in her eyes and his as well.

Harry's eyes took on a severely haunted look. He dropped Malfoy's wand, which he had caught just after disarming him, to the ground with a clatter and bolted off down an adjoining corridor.

He didn't know where he was going; he didn't know where he was. He just ran. Up and down corridors and stairs he ran; he ran into people he had never met in his life and took off after smacking into them with nothing so much as a muttered "sorry."

He ran for several more minutes, before stopping at a highly polished door that seemed to call out to him. He seized the handle of the door and pulled it open roughly, and he stepped into a spacious room. As he crossed the threshold of the room, he could feel a blast of air blow at him. He continued on and looked about the room. It was completely empty. Nearly, at any rate.

The glaring exception being an upright object that stood in the corner of the room, a large expanse of cloth draped over it.

************

Ron watched dumbfounded as Harry ran off. "Harry!" he called after him, but to no avail; Harry continued to fly passed students. Ron had no idea what Harry was running about; he didn't think it likely that Harry was afraid of being caught by teachers, even from Snape, he didn't think Harry would likely run.

It was then, after he had thought this, that he noticed that he had an armed draped protectively over Hermione. She seemed to be the colour of his hair.

"Er—sorry!" they both sputtered at the same time as they peeled themselves away from the other.

Ron could feel his cheeks burning bright and the telltale heat in his ears joined the collage of Weasley blushes, making it obvious to the world at large that he was either angry or terribly embarrassed.

"Er—" he began, "What do you think that was all about?" It went without saying that he was referring to Harry's sudden flight and not about Malfoy's comments about Hermione's family line.

"Did he get hexed?" she asked quietly.

Ron shook his head. "I don't think so; I didn't see anything…" Ron shrugged to himself slightly, "He'll be in History of Magic. He wanted to see if that class was as boring as Fred and George say it is."

"Did he—erm—did he _say_ anything? When he shot the spell at that boy, I mean," Hermione asked inquisitively. She hadn't heard him say an incantation, but then she hadn't been paying much attention to what he had or hadn't said. She was too stung by Malfoy's words.

"He must've," Ron said noncommittally, "I mean, you can't do magic without the incantations, can you?" Ron then seemed to think for a moment, "Well, actually, I've seen Dad and Bill do magic without words, but I reckon it's pretty hard to do… Maybe he whispered it? Even that must be hard… I had to shout the levitation spell a bunch of times before I got anything…" Ron seemed to realise that he was babbling and promptly closed his mouth as he blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Er—right; lunch! Do you know how to get to the Great Hall from here?" Ron asked interestedly. Food had always been an enticing subject for the boy.

"Oh yes, it's right this way; I spent our first day here mapping out the course to classes," she said enthusiastically. Then she blushed slightly and looked at her feet. "I could—make a copy of the directions…if you wanted?" she looked up.

Ron smiled, though he was blushing furiously. "Yes, if you wouldn't mind." He was surprised at the tone he took. It was light; careful, almost.

_She's not that bad…_

************

"_Occaecototus!_" the lord of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry exclaimed as he felt the wards he had erected around the Room of Erised collapse.

He had feared this; feared that Lord Voldemort would find a way to return to the castle that he had once sought to teach at. And now it appeared that his fears were realised; Lord Voldemort had entered the Room of Erised. How he had managed it, when his latest reports told him he resided in a forest deep in Albania, was unimportant at the moment.

Only the Dark Lord or he, Albus Dumbledore, could have collapsed the wards so readily. He had spent more than two hours setting up various enchantments and protections on the sole entryway to the room: The doorway.

Before Albus Dumbledore exited his office to confront the Dark Lord, he did something he had only ever done twice in his office. He collapsed the anti-Apparation wards.

With a very soft, almost inaudible _pop_, Albus Dumbledore disappeared from his office.

Upon his entering the Room of Erised, Albus Dumbledore, wand in hand, aimed to get a curse off. But before he did, the room's other occupant spun on his heel, tears in his eyes, and shouted at him.

"I know you're there! Who are you?" Harry shouted out, his own wand brandished before Dumbledore's.

Harry pointed his wand at Dumbledore, though Dumbledore remained unseen, and fired off a spell.

A jet of electric blue arced across the room, heading directly for where Dumbledore stood. Albus Dumbledore was completely dumbfounded and only just managed to Disapparate before the curse would have hit him.

He reappeared on the other side of the room, behind the draped object. Behind the object or not, he was still in Harry's sights—unseeing as it may have been.

Dumbledore marveled at the boy's ability to fire off a jet of pure magical energy, for the headmaster knew the boy's jet to be just that. He could feel it—raw energy felt different than any other curse or spell; it was unaltered and unrefined, wild in its presentation.

Another jet of light streaked toward Dumbledore, this one brilliantly white. In a brighter room it would have been nearly invisible, but the Room of Erised was dark, as it lacked windows; magical or otherwise. He had only just managed to Disapparate out of its course—the wall behind him was not quite as lucky and had a severe scorch marked marring its once beautiful stonework.

"Don't try and hide! I feel you! Show yourself!" Harry shouted wildly. The rational side of Dumbledore, the side that wasn't trying to avoid the energy Harry was shooting at him, recognised that Harry was quite upset and in a powerfully negative emotional state.

He was forced to avoid yet another jet of light—red in colour—as he Disapparated, before he had the opportunity to shout out, "Wait, Harry!"

Harry froze. He recognised the voice. "Show yourself!" he shouted uncertainly.

"_Occaecototumnixe!_" he muttered, his wand pointed at his chest, effectively dispelling his guise of invisibility. "Please calm yourself, Harry!" he commanded in a light, but firm, tone.

"P-Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, disbelieving. Recognition seemed to dawn on his face and he immediately looked both very embarrassed and ashamed. His face then gained the quality of dread and fear.

"Yes, Harry. May I ask what you are doing in this room?" he asked, leaving out that he shouldn't possibly have been able to enter the room. _Unless Severus was right…_ a voice in his head reminded him. He dreaded the possibility.

"I—erm… I was—er… wandering the halls and just… found it?" he offered feebly.

Dumbledore knew that he was lying, or at least concealing the full truth, and greatly lamented his inability to access Harry's mind. Just in case, he checked the boy's Occlumency shields, hoping to see into his mind and extract the truth. It irked him greatly that he was unable to access him and was beginning to understand Severus' frustration. He found himself as unable to access the boy's mind as he was the previous afternoon.

"Very well, Harry. Might I ask why you felt compelled to attack me?" He was more curious about _how_ the boy knew of his presence. Only a select few could actually see through an Invisibility charm, but even then, the boy had spun around upon Dumbledore's arrival, seemingly having sensed him, rather than see him.

"I—I…er…" he seemed to be struggling to answer his headmaster's question. Then recognition dawned on his face. "You were there yesterday in the Four Corners' Passageway! I felt you there! Were—were we not supposed to be there?" he asked, seemingly afraid that he had been caught; and by the Headmaster, no less!

"It is quite all right, Harry. That particular passageway, as it is not well-known, is not forbidden. But," the headmaster said, "might I ask exactly _how_ it was that you knew of my presence both then and now?" He was very interested to know how the boy could detect him whilst he was invisible.

"Your—er—well, magic, I guess. It feels different… stronger, somehow. I can… it's like a tingling in my stomach. I can feel the magic whenever anyone is around, but it's stronger with you than most people…" Harry explained, blushing slightly. His face then scrunched up slightly in thought. "Well, no… that's not quite true. I couldn't feel my relatives… but maybe that is because they don't have any magic in them, as they're Muggles…"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose beyond his hairline. The boy could sense him in such a way? The phenomenon had been recorded before, but it was always with enchantments and had only ever happened to those who were older and more powerful than Harry. Dumbledore himself could sense magicks, but not the magicks of people, just those that resided inside of charmed or cursed objects and in rooms that had been warded.

It did not escape his notice, however, that Harry said his magic was more powerful than _most_ people's. This, he reasoned, meant that someone within the walls of this school was more powerful than he, or would be someday. _Most curious,_ he thought. _I must look into this._

"I see. That is most interesting, Harry. The gift that you possess is a rare one indeed. One that, I confess, I have not been blessed with." Dumbledore could not resist, it was important that he know. "Harry," he said slowly, "have you felt any… evil presences here at Hogwarts? Darker presences than is average, that is to say."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded slowly. "Yes… There have been a few… but I don't know what it means. There are some that are… mixed, as well. Like they are both bad, but still good; if that makes any sense."

Dumbledore was excited now. This could help him be assured of the school's safety. "Who, Harry? Whose presences are these that are so unusual or Dark?"

Harry looked _very_ hesitant now, as if he wished nothing more than to not say who it was that was Dark. "Professor Snape," he admitted slowly, glancing around as if expecting the Potions Master to jump out of the walls and dock points from Gryffindor. "And Draco Malfoy… a few of the Slytherins in my Potions class—I don't know their names—and a couple of Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor from Charms. I don't know about any of the Hufflepuffs, though; I haven't had classes with them yet."

Albus Dumbledore was not surprised by Harry's mentioning of his Potions professor. Dumbledore knew of the man's history with the Dark Arts, but disregarded Harry's words. He firmly believed that Severus Snape had reformed and was now as much a practitioner of the Dark Arts as he himself was, which was to say not at all.

But the inclusion of so many students was disturbing. Certainly it had been worse in times passed, but the number was uncommonly high considering the peace their world was currently enjoying. It was even more disquieting that the students he had named could only have been first years. None of this accounted for the older, currently more able, students.

"Harry, I must ask that you learn the names of these people whom cast off so ill an aura. It is quite important that I know of these things," the headmaster said in a deadly serious tone. He didn't like resorting to using students as informants, but it was imperative that he know the identity of all possible threats. It was with this reasoning that he justified his use of Legilimency.

Harry seemed uncertain, but nodded his assent.

"Now, Harry, I believe your lunch hour is already up, but I would like you to do one more thing for me before you depart for your History lesson. Do you see this draped object?" he asked, indicating the Mirror of Erised beside him.

Harry nodded, "Yes, sir, I do."

"I would like you to pull back the cloth which covers it and gaze upon it. I would like you to tell me what you see."

"What should I be seeing, Headmaster? It is just a large mirror, isn't it?" Harry asked. The cloth which sheltered the shield was not fully fastened, so the shiny surface of the mirror was plainly obvious.

"This mirror, Harry, is a most extraordinary magical object. It is called the Mirror of Erised. It shall show you your greatest desire; what you seek most desperately, what you long for most," the wizened old man explained to his pupil. "Though I must warn you; it shows neither truth nor future, only the desires of your heart. Men have succumbed to madness contemplating whether the images of the mirror were images of the future, apparitions of the past, or pure fiction entirely."

Harry nodded slowly, indicating that he understood, before walking toward the mirror. He slowly reached out a hand and withdrew the cloth obscuring most of the mirror from his view.

The mirror itself, Harry quickly understood, was not only magical, but purely beautiful. The silver, reflective surface gleamed brightly, despite the lack of light in the room. The surroundings of the reflective glass were made of highly polished gold that also seemed to glimmer in the dim light.

He gasped in shock and surprise as he saw the image in the mirror, before he blushed a deep, brick red colour. He stared for a moment, mumbling under his breath something that Harry could not make out. Then he looked at Dumbledore. "I—I see myself… here at Hogwarts. I'm teaching," he lied wildly.

Dumbledore recognised Harry's words for what they were—blatant lies—though he was curious whether Harry actually would like to one day teach at Hogwarts. He would have to contemplate both thoughts later. _Perhaps, if Harry survives his destiny, I will no longer be in constant need of a Defence teacher?_ he thought hopefully.

"Harry, I need you to continue looking at the mirror. Gaze at it until I tell you otherwise, do you understand Harry?" If Harry wasn't going to tell him what it was that he saw, he would have to be crafty about finding out by himself.

Harry nodded once again and gazed upon the Mirror of Erised. His face stretched into a pleasant, happy smile. Dumbledore was loath to use the underhand technique he was about to utilise, but the identity of Harry's deepest, most desperate desire was a matter of both professional and personal interest.

Dumbledore peered into Harry's eyes, seeing the reflection of the mirror's reflection in them. It was hazy, but he saw the form of a young person with long, flowing red hair—a girl, he surmised—who was waving at him and seemed to be blushing. Or perhaps she was sun burnt.

Dumbledore was very surprised. He had contemplated on many occasions what Harry's most desperate desire might have been, but a young red-haired girl was definitely not what he had imagined. He had thought, perhaps, Harry would have seen his parents, or perhaps the Dursleys, but not this girl.

He would have to examine the student files in his office to discover the identity of this girl. Unless, of course, it was a friend from Harry's childhood. Regardless, he would have to look into the matter and discover the red-head's identity. Harry was simply too important for Dumbledore to merely overlook the boy's deepest desire.

"Thank you, Harry. Now, I believe you must be off to History of Magic," he said, dismissing the extraordinary boy before him.

"Yes, Professor. Though I think I might be late," Harry said with worry in his voice.

"Do not despair, Harry. In the more than one hundred years that Professor Binns has taught here, he has yet to record a single absence or tardy. Though, I daresay, Messieurs Fred and George Weasley are certainly pushing their luck." His eyes twinkled brightly at the thought of the twin red-headed lads.

Harry chuckled appreciatively and said good-bye to his headmaster. He had seized the brass handle of the door when he looked back at the headmaster. "Professor? What do you see in the Mirror of Erised?"

Dumbledore was surprised that he had asked such a question. "I, Harry, am quite fond of socks. Every year I am sent books, as I am mistaken for an intellectual, but never a single pair of socks. So, I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks, with a large smile on my face," he lied. It would not do to have a student aware of Headmaster Dumbledore's deepest, most desperate desire.

Harry smiled and Dumbledore noticed that a Muggle light bulb seemed to go off in his brain. "All right, good-bye, Headmaster." He exited the room and closed the door behind him.

And then Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards, began to repair the wards that an emotionally shaken first year student had torn asunder without so much as a conscious thought.

************

Harry walked through the halls, searching for History of Magic. Only a few moments after he had left the room, he had kicked himself for not asking for directions to History of Magic, but he was too embarrassed to actually return and ask. Headmaster Dumbledore had entrusted him with a special task and he didn't want to seem unable to find his class, let alone sense the goodness or badness of others.

_Well, Ginevra, it would appear that I am lost._ And so he was. He was certain that he had never been in this section of the castle before. The only clue to his whereabouts that he could ascertain was that he was definitely not on the perimeter of the castle, as he could not see the grounds, nor were there windows lining the walls.

_You're bound to come across someone you can follow. But I think you're going to miss History of Magic,_ she said, fighting the blush that she knew was threatening to spread across her cheeks and ignoring the tingling in her spine from Harry's use of her given name.

_I'll just have to ask Ron if it was as boring as Fred and George say it is. If it is, I don't know how much time I'll spend in their anyway._ Ginny giggled at this. She knew perfectly well that the twins were telling the truth. Her brothers had told her enough times (though Percy adamantly stuck up for the ghost teacher) that Binns' class was just below being forced to act like Percy for a year and just above enduring six years of the Transmogrifian Torture.

_Yes, I can imagine that acting like Percy would be pretty bad—and for a year! …but what is the Transmogrifian Torture?_ Harry asked in morbid fascination.

************

Forty-five minutes later, Harry was standing outside of a greenhouse on the Hogwarts grounds for Herbology. He had come across a sixth year while wandering the corridors and the student had given him instructions on how to get down to the grounds, as it was too late for him to go to History of Magic.

"Harry! Where've you been, mate? You missed the most _boring_ class in the world!" Ron said with enthusiasm despite the apparently dull class he had just escaped from. "Binns, he's the ghost that teaches it, he just droned on and on about some goblin rebellion for an hour and then told us to write an essay about a goblin, that was it. It was so dull; I fell asleep in the middle," Ron's face took on a darker quality, "and that Granger girl hit me about it and told me to wake up. Bonkers, that one."

The two friends entered the greenhouse, which was very warm considering that the day outside was rather gray, and took a spot next to Neville Longbottom, who seemed to be bouncing in anticipation of their class.

The greenhouse smelled heavily of earth and what had to be manure, causing a cacophony of stench to assault Harry's nostrils. _Can you smell that, Gin?_ Harry asked with a crinkled nose.

Ginny was holding her nose, _Think of something else, Harry! It smells terrible!_

_Er… Professor Snape in pink robes? McGonagall tap-dancing? Malfoy in a tutu? _ he joked feebly, doing as Ginny had asked.

He felt Ginny chuckle lightly at his meager attempt at humour; it seemed to have worked, however, because neither was thinking about the appalling smell that Greenhouse One gave off in copious amounts.

There were ten greenhouses at Hogwarts. The higher the number of the greenhouse, the more dangerous the plants that were housed there were. Each greenhouse had numerous dividers inside to keep the more hazardous or finicky plants away from the ones that were genial and easy to care for.

Also, plants that had special needs, such as an excess of water or sunlight, were kept in their own respective dividers, making things very organised considering the controlled chaos that Herbology turned out to be.

The door opened once more, admitting their teacher, Professor Sprout. Harry thought that her name was appropriate for a teacher of Herbology. Professor Sprout herself was a short, plump witch with graying hair and a smell of earth about her. Her hair seemed askew and her hands were covered with a pair of thick-looking leather gloves.

_Not leather, Harry, that's Dragonhide,_ Ginny informed him. _Bill wears Dragonhide boots all of the time and Charlie has probably got more clothes made from Dragonhide than he has from cotton. Bill says it's really useful against spells and the elements, but I think he and Charlie both just like how it looks._

"Hello everyone, my name is Professor Sprout. You are here to learn to care for and identify magical plants and learn their properties and uses. This class will have very little theoretical work, so I want everyone who comes to this class to be prepared to do some actual work and not just write essays."

Most of the class seemed relieved at her words, no one more so than Neville Longbottom, but Hermione seemed to deflate slightly. She seemed to have a knack at writing essays and Harry suspected that she didn't want to venture into anything that she wasn't proficient in already. She still seemed quite attentive and excited to be working with the magical plants, however.

"Today we will, for the most part, be going over the safety procedures and what is to be expected of you here in this class," Professor Sprout informed then. "The plants in this greenhouse are not particularly dangerous, but as you progress here at Hogwarts the plants will become more dangerous and some of them will even be lethal."

The class perked up considerably at her words and some students seemed to be craning their necks in a vain search for such potentially fatal plants, despite Professor Sprout's having informed them of their absence from Greenhouse One.

"Because so many of the plants are dangerous, you must be very careful. I do not want any accidents in my classes, is that understood?" most of the class nodded nervously at her question, though Neville Longbottom, who usually cowered and shied away from everyone in any other class, nodded curtly and with confidence.

"Good. Now…" Professor Sprout continued to speak, but Harry's attention was caught by the sudden feeling of his headmaster's aura. He smiled to himself.

_Do you think he's spying on me or someone else, Ginevra?_ he asked her in amusement.

_He knows that you can tell when he's there. Maybe he just regularly inspects the teachers?_ Ginny offered. She, too, was curious who the Headmaster was spying on.

_Do you think I'd be allowed to ask him after class?_ Harry asked Ginny, not that she would know, of course.

_I dunno, Harry. Probably. He knows that you can feel him, so maybe this is his way of asking you to speak with him?_

_Yeah, maybe, Gin,_ Harry agreed.

_Oh! Maybe he wants to ask you if you have sensed anyone else that he should know about? I think it's kind of odd that he is asking a student to spy on people for him, though…_ Ginny seemed troubled that Albus Dumbledore, who had always been hailed as a hero, was having an eleven year old boy spy on students.

Harry shrugged it off. Harry was proud that Headmaster Dumbledore had entrusted him with this. He didn't understand why the headmaster was asking him to do this specifically when the man seemed to know everything that happened in the school already.

_Unless that's how he knows everything that happens there at Hogwarts; by having people spy on everyone,_ Ginny supplied.

Harry and Ginny continued to ponder how the Headmaster seemed to know everything and whether he was there to speak with Harry or not until Ron nudged Harry in the ribs painfully.

"Come on, mate, the bell's rung and you're here staring off into space."

"Sorry. Just thinking too much, I guess," Harry said with a smirk. He didn't have to feel bad about lying to Ron, because, technically, he wasn't. He was thinking too much. Just… not by, or to, himself.

"Yeah, Harry, you do think too much. I don't know how you knew all of that stuff in Charms today, but did you see the look on that Granger girl's face? She's such a know-it-all, and then you go and put her in her place. Why does she have to be so—"

"Ron, she's not that bad. If you say another word about her I'm going to hex you. I've read a few good ones and Malfoy isn't here right now to help me test them!" Harry snapped. People being called names was something of a sore spot for Harry, who had spent the last ten years of his life being called 'a freak' or any number of nasty names by both his relatives and his schoolmates. He didn't want to hear his friend doing it about someone who, in his mind, simply didn't deserve it.

Ron looked ashamed of himself. "Sorry, Harry," he mumbled.

"Don't apologise to me Ron," Harry said commandingly, "apologise to Hermione. She just ran right passed us when you said that stuff."

Ron looked as if the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was apologising to Hermione Granger and opened his mouth to protest.

"Go, Ron!" Harry commanded. He didn't want Hermione feeling bad just because Ron was being a thoughtless git.

The tone of Harry's voice made Ron run off. "Hermione!" he shouted, trying to stop her, but she kept running. When Ron caught up to her, Harry turned.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted the invisible man.

"That was a good thing you just did, Harry," the headmaster said proudly.

Harry blushed. "Thank you, sir. I just don't like to see people get bullied or called names after…" Harry trailed off.

"Can I help you, Professor?" he asked, trying to steer their conversation to less painful subjects. He didn't want to have a repeat of his earlier incident. After spilling his soul to Ginny the night before, the Dursleys were a very raw subject, even in his own mind.

"No, I was just stopping in to see how you and your classmates were doing in your Herbology lesson. I often stop in to check in on the teachers. My office can be so very boring sometimes, you see.

"But, seeing (or perhaps not) as I am here, have you noticed any other students who have given off a sensation of darkness?" Headmaster Dumbledore inquired.

"No, sir. I was—er… not very focused in this last class, but if it were anything strong, like Snape—"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, _Professor_ Snape or like Draco Malfoy, I'd have noticed. There is something though, but I'm not sure if it was a Gryffindor or not…" Harry trailed off.

"Professor?" Harry said, "Can I ask you one question?"

"Ah, Harry, I'm afraid you must be more careful with your phrasing. You have just asked one question, but I shall allow you a second." Harry imagined that the headmaster had a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir; sorry, sir," Harry responded automatically, to Dumbledore's surprise. "Sir, I was wondering why you want me to spy on other students for you… Surely a staff member, or you yourself, could do it? I—I don't want to be reporting on my friends, Professor."

"Ah, Harry, you ask a difficult question. One which can be answered thusly: You have a gift, Harry. Your ability to feel what magic is inherently good or evil is very valuable in a place that fosters those who could one day use the very knowledge we bestow upon them here against us.

"I am not capable of doing what you can, Harry. Nor, to my knowledge, is any other member of the faculty or student body. The gift you possess is very rare. It has never been known, as far as I am aware, to have been attained without numerous enchantments, a great deal of power, and significantly more magical prowess than any first year possesses.

"I do not wish for you to spy on your friends for me, Harry. But I think you should realise that someone who gives off an aura of Dark magic is probably not someone that you want to associate with."

"But sir, Professor Snape teaches here and his aura is one of the darkest I've felt, sir," Harry said.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, but I would trust Professor Snape with my life, Harry. He can be trusted, despite the magical, and emotional, feelings he often instills in those that experience an unsavory encounter with the man.

"And now, Harry," Dumbledore began, "I believe that, if you've nothing to tell me, that we should both be off back to the castle."

Harry nodded his agreement and the unseen professor and the in-plain-sight pupil returned to the sanctuary that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

***********

Harry entered the Great Hall, which Professor Dumbledore had led him to, to find it filled with students. He stopped for a moment, making an attempt to sense any negative magicks around him. Unfortunately for him, it was nearly impossible to do so in such a crowded room, one that contained nearly one thousand people. It also didn't help that Harry had absolutely no idea how he could focus his ability to feel the presences of others; it was completely wild.

Sighing to himself, Harry continued on through the hall, trying to spot a red-head that he could use to find the Gryffindor table. _Aren't you hungry, Harry?_ Ginny asked. _You haven't eaten since dinner last night, and even then you didn't eat much. You wanted to go off and learn spells with the twins._

_I am hungry,_ Harry told her, _But it's not that bad. You have to remember that the Dursleys would make me go a week or more without food and not think twice of it. I guess my stomach just holds on to the food that it does get longer._

He could feel Ginny's sadness at his mention of what the Dursleys had done to him. _It's all right, Ginevra. I don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm here now; I've got you now, even if it's only in my head,_ he said, smiling fondly. _And besides,_ he added with a grin, _if the Dursleys try anything, I can always just threaten to turn them into dung beetles._

He could feel Ginny laugh at the idea of the Dursleys as insects, whether this was out of pure humourous thinking or because she intended to do just that when she turned seventeen was unclear.

Harry continued to walk along the tables that seated the Hogwarts students before he spotted a shock of red hair at what must have been the Gryffindor table. The spot next to him was empty, so Harry saw fit to occupy it. He walked over to Ron and sat down.

"Hello, Ron," Harry greeted. "Did you apologise to Hermione?"

"Hello, Harry," Ron replied. "And yes, I did. Happy now?" he grumbled. Harry hadn't known Ron for very long, only a few days, but he didn't need Ginny telling him that Ron was both very proud and very stubborn to realise it.

"Good."

Harry seized a platter with chicken legs on it and began to put several on his plate. He really was hungry. He then grabbed a platter of potatoes and put one on his plate before grabbing a jug of pumpkin juice that looked to be perspiring. He had tried it the night before, initially thinking that it would be quite disgusting, but was pleasantly surprised at its taste.

Harry and Ron made small talk for the next ten minutes between their bites and mouthfuls of food. Harry and Ginny also conversed in the time that Harry would be chewing his food, as his mouth was thoroughly unnecessary for conversing with her when the opposite was true with Ron.

"Harry?" Ron asked about ten minutes after Harry had begun to devour the food before him. "Where do you go at night?"

Initially Harry was worried that Ron was going to ask why he had run off earlier that day, but it appeared that Ron had decided to overlook its having ever happened. Now, Harry would have preferred the other question.

"What do you mean, Ron?" Harry asked weakly.

"I mean that I never see you come in at night, but you're always in your bed in the morning. You're never in the common room before I go to bed and you never walk up to the tower with me. Where do you go?" he asked the last phrase slowly, deliberately.

Harry sighed. "I don't sleep that well, Ron," he confessed. It was true, he did have problems sleeping, but that wasn't why he was always out. "I wander the castle for a while until I get tired enough that I think I can fall asleep." Now that was a lie. That wasn't the reason he was out late and he didn't wander the halls. But he couldn't tell Ron what he was teaching the twins, could he? And he certainly couldn't tell him what the twins were teaching _him_. He resolved to try to teach Ron some of the spells he had learned from the twins once he felt he had a good grasp on them.

Ron sighed, causing Harry to wonder whether he knew that he was being lied to. "All right, mate. If you want company on one of those strolls of yours, I'll go with you once or twice. Not tonight, though. I'm dead tired."

"I might take you up on that, Ron," Harry said. He wouldn't mind wandering the corridors with Ron; he would just have to tell the twins first, is all.

_Come on, Harry, go find the twins so we can learn some more spells!_ Ginny said in his mind. She concentrated as hard on learning what the twins taught Harry as much as he did.

Harry smiled slightly and craned his head out, looking around for Fred and George. He found them at the end of the table, talking with Lee Jordan. Fred was laughing at something Lee had just said, but George looked right at Harry, nodded, and mouthed "twenty minutes!"

Harry nodded slightly in recognition and returned to his plate.

Twenty five minutes later, after telling Ron that he was going to go for a walk, Harry met up with the twins outside of the doors of the Great Hall.

"Hey, Harry," the twins greeted simultaneously, "We're going to give you the grand tour and then we'll head up to the castle and do some spells."

Harry laughed at their uniform-style of speaking. He nodded his agreement and they were off. Fred and George led him outside onto the grounds and showed him all the sights there were to see. They walked passed a large tree that Fred warned him would hit him if he got too close; they walked passed Hagrid's Hut, which lied on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, which Fred and George assured him they would give him the tour of on a different night.

Fred and George walked him by the Black Lake and told him about a giant squid that lived in the centre of it. They told him that in the spring it would play with students who decided to brave the dark waters.

When Harry mentioned to them that he had never learnt to swim, they immediately looked appalled and told Harry that they would teach him when the weather warmed up enough. Harry was excited at this; he had never been allowed to join the swimming group that Dudley had. Harry supposed that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia forbade him from it in the hopes that he might one day find himself in deep water and drown. He chuckled darkly at the thought while he felt Ginny sniffle a little.

After another hour or so of being given the tour of the grounds, they were forced inside by the deep cold of the night air. Early September in the Scottish Highlands, it seemed, was a very cold time.

Fred and George led him back into the castle through an ivy-covered doorway on the east side of the castle. Harry had been in this corridor before, he realised. He recognised the chill of the air and realised that it was due to the doorway in the wall. He looked back at the door only to find that the door had disappeared.

"Oh yeah," Fred said, seeing Harry's surprise and following his gaze, "That door is always there, but you can never see it from the inside. You just have to do this," he tapped the wall with his wand and the wall opened, "to get out. Tap it again and it closes." He demonstrated by rapping his wand on the open section of wall; it promptly shut, accompanied by the soft sound of a lock clicking.

"It locks," George informed him, "so you have to use the password '_Laever_' to unlock it before you open it from the outside. It's always unlocked from the inside, if you know where to find it."

Harry followed the twins up and down several staircases and down three long corridors before they stopped at a door. "This room's never used. So I think this is where we'll hold our little practises from now on. It's just off to the right of the Great Hall, so from there just go here. It's pretty easy to find."

He opened the door, revealing the room to be bare except for a few derelict chairs and a couple of desks that were either melted or cleaved down the middle.

"They store broken stuff in here; Filch cleans it out every Monday morning, so this is all that's been broken since term started," Fred informed Harry.

"Okay, so let's get started then!" Fred's twin exclaimed.

Harry smiled at the antics of the two, slightly insane, brothers. "Okay, I've been thinking about your guys' trouble with nonverbal spells. I think that you should start out by whispering it and then I'll ask Professor Flitwick to show me a Silencing charm," seeing the panicked look on the faces of the twins, he added, "Don't worry! If it'll help you cast spells nonverbally, you shouldn't complain about me asking a teacher for extra instruction!"

The twins looked to have been put in their places, so Harry continued. "Like I said, I'll ask Professor Flitwick to show me a Silencing charm and then I'll cast it on both of you. Then you can just do the magic normally, but you won't make any sound when you use the incantation. That should make it easier for you to learn it. Okay?" The twins nodded. "Good; now, since we need to wait on that, you guys can teach me a few spells in the meantime."

Harry and Ginny smirked at the position the twins were now put in. They had devised this while Harry ambled about the grounds with the twins. Harry's suggestion (which Ginny had actually had the original idea for) to the twins should work, so they couldn't fault him there. It also didn't hurt that now Harry got some undivided time to learn some spells that could be used against Draco Malfoy the next time he was being a git. Which, Harry realised, was mostly probably the next day.

The twins appeared flabbergasted. "Er—okay, then, I guess," one of them managed to get out, Harry wasn't sure which.

"Erm… what do you want to learn then, Harry? Shield spell, hex, curse, jinx, charm, what?" asked the other twin.

"Teach me a charm that I could use in a duel," Harry suggested.

The twins grinned evilly. "All right, Harrykins, I think we have one that you could find… useful." Harry was a bit concerned about the tone the twins were using. Anything that they found useful, Harry and Ginny both considered to be potentially lethal.

"There's a spell that does the same thing as throwing a punch. It's dead useful, but I think we're going to have to practise it on each other. Don't worry, I don't think that it will be that difficult to do and I think we can agree not to use it too powerfully. Oh! And no hitting anywhere were someone will see it." Now Harry was definitely worried. The twins were far too cheerful about the thought of punching each other.

And then Harry realised what they intended to do and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He paled as he felt Ginny laugh as well as make a sympathetic noise.

"Er… can we agree no hitting below the belt?" Harry asked hopefully.

The twins' faces instantly fell. "Well, all right, I suppose. But we can't promise that our aim is that spectacular…"

Harry groaned. "Okay, what's the incantation?"

"_Pulsat!_" the twins shouted, their wands pointed at Harry. A bolt of displaced air, rippling the atmosphere around it, streaked toward Harry from the twins, who were standing only a few metres away from him.

"_Obtego!_" Harry shouted in his mind, focusing on erecting a shield that would block the incoming spell. He forced all of the magic that he could into it, making the red energy before him surge wildly.

The two spells ran into his shield, demolishing it instantly. Harry was hit twice in the chest by their spells. It did indeed feel like a punch. It brought back memories of beatings from Dudley and his gang and from Uncle Vernon. Harry felt the urge to run, but held his ground. H wanted to learn this spell.

_I'm going to _murder_ those two!_ Ginny shouted in Harry's mind. He grinned widely at her protectiveness of him. It felt nice to have someone who looked out for him, even if that someone was hundreds of miles away and happened to be thirteen months younger than he.

Harry's grin seemed to derail Fred and George, because they looked at him with curiosity. "What are you smiling about, you nutter?" George asked, laughing.

"This," he said, pointing his wand at George and intoning the Punching charm in his mind. The jet arced toward him and Harry sent another at Fred. They were hit, one after the other, in a place they would not likely forget being hit.

"Hmm," Harry said, holding back a laugh, "I think I've got the hang of it."

"Yeah, mate," one of the twins said, on his knees and clutching himself. "You've got it great," he said, coughing and sputtering.

"I think," the other twin choked out, "that that is all for tonight."

Harry laughed openly at the twins, who were choking, coughing, holding on to themselves, and speaking in a higher pitch than normal. Harry could feel Ginny rolling on the ground, laughing herself silly at Harry's revenge.

Harry half-dragged, half-carried the two older boys back to their common room, with the twins directing him where to go. It was arduous work, but they plainly refused to walk and Harry needed them in order to find his way back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry thought, however, that their show of getting their feet stuck on ever random step, nook, and cranny they could find was a bit over the top.

Finally, after an hour of trudging up and down the halls of Hogwarts, Harry and the twins arrived at Gryffindor Tower. Harry had threatened to Bat-Bogey the twins if they didn't start walking of their own power, so about half-way through they began to go on their own.

The twins took Harry in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, said the password (still "Caput Draconis") and Harry entered. The twins, unbeknownst to him, didn't follow him into the room and went down to the kitchens to nick some food.

Harry trudged up to his dormitory, fell on his bed, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He didn't see Ron sitting in the common room, waiting for him, nor did he see the satisfied look on his face as Harry entered the common room alone.

**A/N:**_Where have I been? I know, I know. Life's demanded my attention, there's not much more to say than that. But anyway, this is twelve, and you can expect thirteen much more quickly than this, my last. I hope you've enjoyed your stay._


	13. Chapter 13: An Enigma

**Chapter XIII: An Enigma**

A few days later (Friday, to be exact) Harry could be found in the Great Hall—he hadn't gotten lost this time!—eating breakfast.

It was early, Harry was one of the only occupants of the room, the Headmaster having not even entered the hall as of yet. Harry hadn't slept well the night before; his slumber was unimpeded by nightmares or unwelcome dreams, mainly because the nightmares and dreams never had a chance to take hold of him.

He had only slept for a few moments at a time and looked the part. Ginny, too, had had difficulty sleeping. Despite the fact that the day before had been generally chaotic (Harry had been taught the Silencing spell by Professor Flitwick, had been docked thirty points for 'breathing loudly' in Potions, had been stalked by the Mr. Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, for an hour after classes, and then had spent most of his time before dinner—and a good deal of his time after— writing an essay for Professor McGonagall) neither Harry nor Ginny could fall asleep.

They had spent most of the night discussing things of little or no consequence, both trying to avoid the subject of the Mirror of Erised. Neither was terribly comfortable with the Mirror, it had been a subject damned for avoidance since their run-in three days previous.

And so, a very tired Harry could be found gazing down at his food, awaiting his fellow students. He was one of twelve people in the hall, the only Gryffindor. The rest were all either Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs.

Most would think Harry alone. Luckily, Harry was not.

_Merlin we need to sleep more…_ Ginny grumbled to Harry, her fatigue plain in her mental message.

_Good thing we don't have Snape today… I'd probably snap at him and lose Gryffindor a hundred points,_ Harry said, a grumble to equal hers in his tone. Harry and Ginny had taken to using words like 'we' in replacement of singular statements such as 'I'. It was an example of how close they were that what one experienced, the other did as well.

_What if the Defence teacher, Quirrell, is just as bad?_

Harry gave a bitter laugh. _Ginevra, please! Is there _anyone_ worse than Snape?_

Harry felt Ginny smile slightly. _Well… You-Know-Who, Grindelwald, Morgana—_

Harry laughed at first, but then frowned slightly. _Ginevra… why is everyone afraid of saying Voldemort's name, but not Grindelwald or anyone else's? I mean… I heard some sixth or seventh years talking about Grindelwald, and how he had more or less leveled half of the continent. What is it about Voldemort that frightens people so much? Hagrid told me some of what he did, but it didn't sound like it was as bad as Grindelwald._

Harry felt Ginny's discomfort at hearing Lord Voldemort's name, but she didn't flinch, squeak, or yelp like everyone else. _Well… he was more recent, wasn't he? I—well, I listened in once when Dad and Bill were talking about the last war. I was hiding outside the kitchen door; it was past my bedtime, but I was only five or six, so I was being a little rebellious and wanted to hear what they were saying._

Dad told Bill that one of the things about, she paused, taking a deep breath, _Voldemort that made people fear him so much was that he worked in complete secret. Grindelwald had followers, but everyone knew who they were, they didn't try to hide it; not like the Death Eaters did._

_Is that what they called themselves? Death Eaters?_ Harry asked, curious.

_Yeah. I think it was meant to be a name that scared people. It worked. Dad said that Voldemort moved so quickly when he killed people that the Ministry couldn't get there in time to fight back._

He said that it was really hard to get a spy in with Voldemort; that he tortured all of his followers, so that only really strong and brave wizards would ever try to get into the Death Eaters to spy on them. Dad said that Voldemort could tell when a person was lying too.

The Ministry was pretty much useless against him; the Ministry moved too slowly, they just weren't strong enough. And so few people even knew what Voldemort looked like!

The only ones that ever really saw him, dueled him. And only a dozen or so people had ever dueled Voldemort and lived. There was Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody—he's a really famous Auror friend of Dad's—my uncles—the ones that made that spell book—and some of the better Aurors.

I think Mum or Dad, or maybe both, fought him once. They've never said, but they both seem to know a lot about him. It could be because Dad works at the Ministry; he could have seen one of the Aurors fight Voldemort at the Ministry, during one of the times he attacked it, but I'm not so sure. Mum and Dad both seem to know an awful lot about him…

I heard Dad tell Bill about a group of wizards and witches who went up against the Death Eaters. He said that they were led by Dumbledore himself; that they moved almost as quickly as the Death Eaters. Ginny said, a tone of slight awe in her voice.

_Maybe,_ Harry started, _your Mum and Dad were in the group? They could have fought Voldemort in a battle? They'd probably know more about him than most, if they were in a resistance group._

_I dunno… I think your Mum and Dad were in the group, though,_ Ginny said softly.

_My parents?_ Harry asked, dumbstruck.

_Yeah. Dad said that they'd fought Voldemort before… And didn't Hagrid tell you that they were Head Boy and Girl when they were here? They'd be close enough to Dumbledore; he could have recruited them, or something._

_Yeah… I guess,_ Harry said in a daze. His parents? In an anti-Voldemort group? He smiled sadly.

"Harry? Harry?" a voice called out, a hand being waved before his face.

Harry shook his head and made a noise of question.

"You all right, mate? I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes… What were you thinking about?" asked the voice of Ginny's brother, Ron Weasley.

"Oh—er—nothing, Ron. I'm just tired, must've spaced out a bit."

"A bit? Mate, Fred and George already gave up trying to snap you out of it. That was ten min—"

A screeching interrupted him as well as the hundreds of other voices that echoed in the Great Hall. As happened every day at breakfast, hundreds of owls began pelting toward the students.

Harry watched as a handsome eagle-owl made it's way toward Malfoy, a box of sweets tied to its leg. He watched as Malfoy, with greed in his eyes, tore into the package, plucking a chocolate out of the box.

"Bloody hell!" shouted a voice.

Harry turned toward the shouter. The Weasley twins stood, looks of horror on their faces.

_Looks like Mum's gotten around to sending that Howler,_ Ginny said in a mixture of sympathy for the twins, and amusement at their predicament. Indeed, the twins both had their hands on a single scarlet, smoking envelope. They held this missive as far away from their faces as they could, as though afraid it might explode. That was when Harry remembered that it would do just that.

_I have an idea!_ Harry proclaimed to Ginny in excitement.

He got up and hurried to where the horrorstruck twins stood. "Give me the Howler!" he demanded, his voice echoing in the now silent Great Hall. His right arm was outstretched as he waited for one of the twins to put the letter in his hand.

As one, the twins pushed the envelope, which was now smoking more completely, into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Be really loud for a moment," Harry demanded, staring at the twins pointedly. They seemed to understand what he meant, because they suddenly started singing a crude song about a Contraceptive charm, a barmaid, and the Minister of Magic.

_Silencio!_ he said in his head, his wand pointed at the smoking envelope and hoping desperately that it was silent. He wasn't sure what it said, but he knew he didn't want Ron or Percy knowing what they'd be up to. Ron would be offended that Harry hadn't included him, Percy would be angry that they'd had the audacity to send a Hogwarts toilet seat to someone. Harry feared greatly the impending lecture on cleanliness and proper conduct.

And then it burst into furious flames.

"**_Fred and George Weasley!_**" the smoking envelope seemed to whisper. Only those in the immediate surroundings had any chance at catching what the Howler had to say. "**_I cannot express how disappointed I am in the two of you! How dare you send a toilet seat to your sister! You stole that toilet seat from Hogwarts! Just wait until you come home for the holidays! You won't come out of your room the entire time! _**

"**_And how dare you corrupt Harry Potter! Tricking the poor boy into sending a toilet seat to your sister with you! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! I will be contacting Professor Dumbledore about this, you can rest assured!_**" the voice of Molly Weasley whispered. It continued on for several more minutes, impressing upon Harry the enormity of the Weasley matriarch's lung capacity and ranting ability.

The rest of the hall, because they could not hear what the Howler was saying, burst into excited chatter, mixed with laughter. Silencing a Howler was not something they had thought to do before.

Headmaster Dumbledore rose to his feet and outstretched his arms, silencing the hall without words. "Now, after that rather lacklustre Howler and the serenading sounds of the Weasley twins, I suggest we all return to our delightful breakfasts; as, some of you may recall, classes begin in less than half an hour." The Headmaster's grin was broad, his eyes twinkling full-force, as he spoke to the breakfast-goers.

There was some scattered chuckling at the professor's use of adjective in regards to the Wonderful Weasley Bros. and their Howler, but most simply resumed their eating, chatting to their comrades, no doubt plotting rules to break without having the previously ever-present threat of a smoking red envelope hanging over them.

Harry looked up at the Headmaster, an appreciative grin plastered about his features in response to Dumbledore's description of the Weasley twins. He saw something that made his features emulate the old man's.

_What's with the look, Gin?_ Harry asked confusedly as he gazed at Dumbledore's expression. Then he perked up. _Do you think he saw that I didn't use an incantation? I don't want Dumbledore knowing about it,_ he said, slightly frantically.

_I don't know, Harry… He could be thinking about anything. There's no reason to think that he knows you don't need to say anything to get magic to work,_ responded Ginny reasonably.

Harry was so caught up in the expression upon the ancient Headmaster of Hogwarts' face that he never noticed the equally inquisitive, curious, and concentrated one that adorned the features of one Hermione Granger.

*************

"Are you _sure_ this is the right way, Ron?" Harry asked for the sixth time in five minutes as the two boys ambled through the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Yes! It's all here on this map!" Ron said, waving said map in the air.

_Where do you reckon he got the map in the first place?_ Ginny asked.

"Who gave you that map, Ron? The twins?"

Ron turned scarlet. "No!" he exclaimed. Then he mumbled something quietly, too quietly for Harry to discern.

"What was that, Ron?" he asked.

Ron's face turned a deeper shade of magenta. "HermioneGrangergaveittome," he spouted rapidly.

"What?"

Ron swallowed and took a deep breath. "Hermione Granger gave it to me." He reddened further as he spoke, Harry idly wondered how much deeper his face could become without catching flame.

Harry grinned broadly as Ginny began to sing a song about Ron, Hermione, a tree, and several bushy-haired red-head children.

_I've got ten galleons that say that those two will get together by fifth year,_ Harry said jokingly.

Ginny giggled. _I don't have ten galleons, but I've got three galleons that say they'll get together by third year._

_We should get the twins in on this._ The twins would undoubtedly expand the betting pool exponentially and would probably convince half of Hogwarts to put a galleon or two down.

_Definitely._

"Oh," Harry said, trying to control his grin. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Ron mumbled incoherently once more, his face turned downward at the map.

"Harry, what spell did you use on the Howler this morning?" Ron asked quickly, desperate for a change of subject.

"Oh, just a Silencing spell. I asked Professor Flitwick to show it to me yesterday." Harry grinned. "I don't think he thought I could do it at first. It's a third year spell, so he probably thought that it wouldn't work but," Harry shrugged, "it worked back there."

"I _thought_ that's what you used! Did you see Hermione Granger's face when you did it?" Ron asked excitedly. "She looked so jealous! And suspicious, too! I don't think she's very happen that you can do it—I don't think she can!" Ron laughed uproariously, Hermione—unable to do something!

Harry groaned inwardly. _She suspects something, too!_ Harry said to Ginny morosely. _I don't want her knowing about it, either!_

Ron's head shot up suddenly. "Defence should be just around this corner!" he half-shouted, his finger pointing down the corridor to the end.

Sure enough, when they reached the end of the passage and turned the corner, a couple dozen of students came into view.

_Remind me to thank Hermione, Gin,_ said Harry.

"Well, Ron, I think this calls for a celebration. This is the first time we've made it to a new class without being late," said Harry merrily.

Ron laughed. "We'll have to have a party in the common room, then!"

"We couldn't have done it without Hermione's help!" Harry said loudly. Hermione was just a few feet from them and Harry wanted her to hear him so that she might ease up on her suspicions.

Ron, having noticed Hermione's proximity, mumbled something again as Harry laughed at the red-headed lad's discomfort.

The bell then rang, signaling the beginning of classes. "Where is Professor Quirrell?" several voices asked at once. Ron asked Harry quite the same question. He was about to turn to his left and tell Ron that he had no idea when the door before them creaked open, revealing the purple turban-clad Quirrell.

"C-co-come on, c-c-class!" the man said with overtones revealing the man's terror at the thought of students in his room of all places.

Some of the students tried to fight back grins at the terrified man. Harry, however, felt no reason to laugh.

There was _darkness_ radiating from this man… but it wasn't at all similar to the auras of the students. Harry couldn't accurately describe it. It was like trying to hear someone whisper while you were underwater…

_What is that, Gin?_ Harry asked in both concern and curiosity. His eyebrows were knitted, a contemplative frown on his face. _It's like… like he's not even there… or that he's standing behind a wall…or…_

_I know, Harry… there's no good there… it's all darkness. Harry, I think we should tell the Headmaster about this… he'd want to know._

_But, what it if it's just like that because he's been around so much darkness? He is the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher…_

_I know, Harry, but we need to tell Dumbledore just in case,_ Ginny said adamantly. This was too important to just skimp over.

_Okay,_ Harry said, deflating. _But how do I even go about contacting him, Gin? He didn't really give me any way to get in touch with him. Maybe I should just blow up a cauldron in Potions—have Snape get so mad at me that he straight chucks me out,_ Harry joked.

Ginny laughed. _Well, that's one way to go about it._ She was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. _Just ask for a word with him the next time you feel him in the room. Who knows, he might even be looking in on classes today._

Harry announced his silent agreement before following his classmates into the Defence room. The first thing he noticed about it was that it smelled awful.

_Oh, Harry! What is that?_ Ginny asked, disgusted.

Harry pinched his nose with his thumb and index finger. He was about to answer to Ginny that he had no idea what the smell was when he caught sight of the culprit.

Hanging from the ceiling, draping the walls, lining the desks, and littering the floor were dozens upon dozens of cloves of garlic. On the wall, behind his desk, Quirrell had fixed a large wooden crucifix. Sitting upon his desks were more than a dozen phials of clear water—holy water.

_What is all that stuff for Harry? I mean, I understand the garlic—it wards off vampires—but why does he have that 'T' shaped block of wood and phials of water?_ Ginevra asked, befuddled.

Harry nearly laughed at the sight of the room. _It's for the same reason, Gin._ When he felt her begin to rebut, he broke in, _It's a Muggle thing, Ginevra, I don't quite get it, but…_ he mentally shrugged.

"What is this!" an annoying and arrogant voice queried loudly. "Garlic and Veritaserum all over the place," the voice spoke, disgustedly. "What is all this!" the snide voice of Draco Malfoy demanded.

"It's for vampires, Malfoy," Harry responded coolly. Malfoy, having just registered Harry's presence, opened his mouth to rebut—with a _very_ witty remark, assuredly.

He never got the chance. "V-ve-very good, Mr. P-Potter. I-I had an un-unfort-unfortunate run-in with a v-vampire d-during the summer h-holidays, and was wa-warned, well thr-threatened, by h-h-him that I w-w-would be running in-into him a-ag-again. I th-thought it b-b-b-best to be p-p-prepared.

"And, Mr. M-Malfoy, that is not V-V-V-Ver-Verit-Veritaserum! It is, in fact, H-holy w-w-water, b-blessed for me by a M-Muggle p-p-priest in Alb-Albania."

Malfoy snorted derisively at the stuttering professor's use of a Muggle object, apparently believing such things to be beneath him.

"Wh-whatever works, eh Mr. M-M-Malf-foy?" chuckled the professor nervously as he wrung his fingers into knots.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and took a seat. A few minutes later, when the class had quieted and Quirrell had summoned to courage to speak, class officially began.

"Now c-class, who here knows the p-p-p-p-p-proper way to h-ho-hold a wand?" asked Quirrell to start the period.

"He's daft! Only a filthy Muggle wouldn't know how to hold a wand!" Draco Malfoy snorted loudly in the very back of class to his cronies, who guffawed unintelligently in response.

"V-very well then, M-Mr. Malfoy, p-p-please d-demonstrate to the cl-class the co-c-correct way to hold a w-wand," the purple-turbaned professor grounded out.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and strode arrogantly to the front of the class. "Move over!" he demanded of the terrified-looking Quirrell, who was standing about two metres from Malfoy, apparently too close.

Malfoy cleared his throat and pulled out his wand. He held it limply in his right hand, his fist clenched around it and his thumb tucked under his middle and index fingers.

"Well!" Malfoy said impatiently. "Are you going to check so you can get back to your boring lesson?" shouted the self-proclaimed Slytherin prince in annoyance.

Professor Quirrell gave a half-nod, half-shrug. "C-certainly, Mr. Malfoy," he said before crossing the room to the blond boy's position. He grabbed Malfoy by the right wrist—much to the arrogant boy's obvious disgust—and inspected his grasp on the wand.

He gave a small smirk at what he saw. "I-I'm s-s-so s-s-s-sorry Mr. M-Malfoy. It ap-appears that y-you have it wr-wrong. Y-you sh-sh-should hold your m-middle and index f-fi-fin-fingers l-l-like th-this." He removed his own wand and showed Draco the proper technique. He held his hand in a fist, with his forefinger elevated slightly from the others, pressed up against the underside of the wand, and his thumb held above it.

Malfoy's face was priceless. His mouth agape and red-faced, his eyes bugging out slightly, and wide, he looked remarkably like a dark-gilled goldfish. His mouth opened and closed several times before he looked incredulously at Quirrell. He muttered something that no one seemed to catch—except for Quirrell who gave him an uncharacteristically sharp look, causing his features to sharpen considerably—and stalked to the back of the class, plopping down in the desk situated between his cronies. He muttered darkly to himself as Quirrell straightened and continued on with his lesson.

_What was that!_ Harry exclaimed as he felt Quirrell's energy increase. _It just—peaked!_ The moment Quirrell's features had sharpened, Harry had felt the man's darkness increase before dying back down.

_Another thing to tell Dumbledore about, I suppose,_ Ginny said morosely.

"W-would e-e-e-everyone p-p-please o-open their c-copies of _T-the D-Dark F-F-Forces_?" Quirrell asked shakily, continuing on with the lesson, his features having reverted back to his typical, pale and shaking.

*************

An hour and a half later, the bell rang, signaling the end of their first Defence class of the year—which happened to be a double one. Every Friday, the first years had the afternoons off, so Harry was looking forward to exploring the grounds with Ron, or just playing a game of chess in the common room. He hadn't accounted for a blond-haired git to interrupt him on his way out the door.

"Think you're better than the rest of us, do you Potter!" said Malfoy in a loud, scathing voice.

Harry kept walking, ignoring the boy's comments.

_He's just jealous because he held his wand wrong and you didn't. Plus, you knew about the Disarming charm when he didn't,_ Ginny said reasonably. _You'll have to thank Fred and George for that,_ she said as an afterthought.

"You and that Granger girl should have kids. The little freak'd be biggest smart-arse in the world!" Malfoy called after his slowly retreating back.

Ron, who was walking next to Harry, suddenly stopped. The tips of his ears were red and a scowl darkened his features. Ginny, too, had reacted. Harry could have sworn he'd heard her growl. Harry himself, while not necessarily angry, had an intense feeling that Malfoy couldn't be more wrong.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron shouted.

"Oh, Weasel, do you have a thing for the Mudblood?" asked Draco snidely. "You'll have to wait in line. You might be a blood-traitor, but you're still pureblood. Potty here still gets first grabs—his mother was as filthy as Mudbloods come after all—"

_Pulsat!_ Harry snarled in his mind, his wand, having been removed from his robes before anyone else had registered its appearance, pointed at the Slytherin boy.

Harry didn't even realise that, in the complete silence of the corridor—despite the spectators—his nonverbal magic had been _very_ noticeable.

Two dozen Slytherins and Gryffindors watched as a huge jet of displaced air rushed toward Malfoy. When Harry had shot the _Pulsat_ spell at the twins, it had been a beam with a diameter of about four inches. This time, because of Harry's anger at the arrogant fool of a boy before him, it was closer to a foot in diameter.

As the spell streaked passed the lookers-on, their hair was pushed backward by the force of the wind that surrounded the spell. The spell jetted toward the dumbstruck Slytherin boy and when it hit, it did so with the sound of a hollow wall having had a basketball thrown at it. Malfoy was thrown off his feet by the force of the spell, flying back for a couple of feet before hitting a wall behind him. He slumped to the bottom, his hair askew and his head lolling.

And then—pandemonium stuck.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle pulled out their wands and ran at Harry. Ron, ever the loyalist, pulled out his wand, outstretched his arm, and charged at the two larger boys. He gave a cry as he ran at them, a surreal war-cry in the once-silent corridor. Then, Dean Thomas, a boy in Harry's dorm, charged after Ron, followed by Seamus Finnigan, another of Harry's dorm mates. The three Gryffindors and two Slytherins continued to charge, closing the ten feet or so gap more with every passing second.

A Slytherin girl with a heavy brow, not at all pleasant to the eye, who stood perhaps half-way between where Harry and Draco had begun, stood in between the five rampaging boys before turning toward Ron, Dean, and Seamus and shooting a spell at them. By now the noise had reached very high levels, making it impossible to discern what spell the girl had used. But when it hit Dean Thomas, he fell to the ground and began to moan loudly.

Before long, all of the Gryffindors and Slytherins were brawling. Some were fighting hand to hand in a Muggle fashion. The others, more attuned to the arts of magic than the physical ones, shot elementary spells at one another.

It wasn't long after the last Slytherin joined the fray that Harry and Hermione were the only ones not taking place in the fight.

"You're going to be in _so_ much trouble!" she exclaimed, looking at Harry. "And so are they!"

_She's right, you know. We should probably end this,_ Harry said to Ginny.

He raised his wand, pointed it toward the ceiling, and shot red sparks into the air. "ENOUGH!" he shouted.

Everyone froze from what they were doing.

Dean Thomas was lying on the ground, clutching his stomach.

Seamus Finnigan had dozens of mushrooms growing on his face.

Ron had a black eye and was limping slightly, as if he had twisted his ankle at some point.

Draco Malfoy was still slumped against the wall, moaning every few seconds.

Crabbe and Goyle both had Neville Longbottom in a headlock, one arm over each side of his head.

Several girls from both Slytherin and Gryffindor were pulling each other's hair.

The heavy-browed girl was sitting on the floor, a black Slytherin boy, who had been mistaken for a Gryffindor, was in her clutches.

"Everyone needs to stop before someone comes along and we get into even more trouble!" Harry shouted.

"Indeed," a soft voice called out from behind him, chilling Harry to the bone.

**_A/N: Alright. So that took a bit longer than I'd expected. I'll be better about things, I swear. Besides, school's out now, so I'll have more... er... you know... energy and stuff. To post. Not that it's exactly taxing, but. Well. Look, I'll be better about it. But hey, how about some encouragement? I'd love a review. Or two._**

'Til next time. 


	14. Chapter 14: And the Dark Lord Riseth

**Chapter XIV: And the Dark Lord Riseth**

"Indeed," the voice said softly, the speaker gazing upon the group of students before him.

Harry gulped and turned around. The sight that met his eyes confirmed his fears. _Now we're in for it…_ Harry sent to Ginny.

"Please tell me why you've done this," the ancient Headmaster of Hogwarts asked of the assembled group in a quiet, sad voice, but with a streak of inquisitiveness.

No one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed. And then a voice spoke.

"Potter attacked me, sir," Draco Malfoy said in a voice of feigned innocence as a path was cleared between the Headmaster and the blond boy. "I was just coming out of Defence class when he turned around and fired a curse at me. He hit me and I was thrown against the wall." Malfoy rose from the wall he had slumped against as he spoke.

"Then Crabbe and Goyle," the boy continued, jutting his finger in the direction of the two boys, who had since let go of Neville Longbottom, "tried to stop Potter when he was about to fire another curse at me. And then the Gryffindors started attacking the others and then you came," the boy said.

Harry couldn't believe his ears. He stood there, gaping at the lying blond boy as the Slytherins all nodded in agreement with what Malfoy was saying.

"Sir! That's not true! Malfoy called Harry's mum a—a Mudblood!" Ron half-shouted quickly. There was a collective gasp from the people in the corridor that had not heard what had started the fight. "Malfoy got what—"

"That's quite enough, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said softly, but commandingly. "Mr. Potter, you will please come with me." His tone gave no room for argument. "All those in need of healing are to go to the Hospital Wing."

_I can't believe that Dumbledore believed the git!_ Harry raged. _I'm going to get him, I swear it!_

Verbally, Harry settled for, "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore turned on his heel, his deep purple robes swishing as he did, and strode forward.

Harry followed behind the ancient man, his expression a downcast one. Harry had followed the Headmaster through two corridors before he heard Malfoy burst into hysterical laughter.

_Oh yes, we'll be getting him,_ he sent to Ginny, his teeth and fists both clenched tight.

_Tonight,_ she agreed.

Harry followed the Headmaster through a hidden tapestry, up several flights of steps, and down a number of corridors before the old man stopped outside of a statue of a pair of gargoyles.

"Chocolate Frogs," he said. It was evidently a password, for the gargoyles moved away, revealing a spiral staircase that seemed to work quite like a Muggle escalator.

Harry stepped on to the revolving staircase, two steps behind his Headmaster, and watched sullenly at the scenery around him. Under different circumstances, he would have been quite interested in the things around him, but it was difficult to think of such pleasant things when he was almost certainly going to be expelled.

Dumbledore led him up the rotating stairs, finally stopping at the top of the tower where a wooden door stood, a polished brass knocker in the shape of a griffin attached to it. The Headmaster seized the brass handle of the door and turned.

Harry took no note of the room's interior as he dumbly followed Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore came to stop at a wooden desk with an intricate carving in the form of the Hogwarts Crest (a roaring lion representing Gryffindor, a rearing snake representing Slytherin, a badger representing Hufflepuff, and an eagle representing Ravenclaw all above a Latin phrase: "Draco Dormiens Numquam Tittilandus"). The old man pointed to a chair in front of his desk, while he walked behind the desk and sat in a majestic, high-backed chair.

He steepled his hands, his elbows resting on the surface of the desk, as Harry took a seat. His face was set in an expression of the utmost solemnity. "I must ask you allow me to perform a spell on you, Harry."

Harry looked at the Headmaster as if he'd sprouted a second head. "What?" he asked in alarm.

"I am asking your permission to perform a spell on you," the Headmaster stated simply, no twinkle in his eyes and the same grave expression set, as if in stone, on his face.

"What will it do to me?" Harry asked cautiously.

Dumbledore peered directly into his eyes. _Tell me that you don't already know, Tom,_ a voice that was neither his nor Ginny's said in his mind, as if it had been whispered in his ear.

"GET OUT!" Harry roared, leaping to his feet, brandishing his wand. "STAY OUT OF THERE!"

Dumbledore stood, raising his own wand. "Leave the boy, Tom. He is of no use to you."

"Who the hell is Tom?" Harry shouted, alarmed.

"You slipped, Tom! No first year could have done what you did to Draco Malfoy! I've suspected it all along—now be gone, Tom!"

"I AM NOT TOM!" Harry shouted in both fury and terror at the Headmaster. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO THAT IS!"

_Ginevra! What is he talking about? I'm not Tom! I'm Harry! He knows that! I've got the Headmaster with his wand raised against me!_ Harry sent wildly.

"You gave too many clues, Tom, to go back now! Your Occlumency, the nonverbal spells, the power you exerted! It all adds up!" the Headmaster said, his voice rising. "Be gone from the boy, Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT NAME!" Harry shouted in fear and fury.

Dumbledore, his face set, waved his wand at Harry. Harry ducked, and looked up just in time to see an ethereal bird of silver fly above him.

*~*

"Weasley! You must _jab_ your wand, not wave it! Now—" Professor Minerva McGonagall stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open as she saw the silvery ghost of a bird soar toward her, coming from out of the ceiling. It couldn't be! This particular form of communication was one invented by Albus Dumbledore himself, and it hadn't been used for nearly a decade.

_My office, immediately Minerva. _He _is here,_ a voice whispered urgently in her mind. _Summon Severus immediately._ As soon as the glowing bird had hit her, dead in the chest, the voice had spoken.

"Class dismissed!" Professor McGonagall shouted to the class. "Everyone out!"

"_Expecto Patronum!_" she shouted as the class filed out. Several students ducked, thinking that McGonagall had lost it and was now shooting curses at them. Indeed, if McGonagall dismissing the class hadn't made them think of her as being out of her tree, this clarified matters—she was out of her tree.

_Severus! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in Albus' office! Come immediately!_ she thought furiously as a cat, every bit as ethereal as Dumbledore's bird, flew from her wand and scampered through the floor toward the dungeons.

She sprinted across the room, seized the handle to her door, and flung herself into the hallway. She looked in the direction of the Headmaster's office, gazing for a moment with eyes unseeing, before running as quickly as her legs would carry her to the Headmaster's aid.

*~*

"Passable, Weasley."

It was the first period after lunch and Severus Snape was inspecting the potion of Percy Weasley. He hated the boy's entire family, but the boy himself was very studious and had never displayed the animosity toward the ill-tempered that every other Weasley, indeed that every other student, had.

"Thank you, sir," Percy Weasley responded, his head low in a display of respect.

Severus Snape had just strode to the front of the classroom to comment on the class's general lack of potion-brewing skills when a glowing, silvery cat scampered through the ceiling, landing on the desk of Percy Weasley (which was situated in the front of class, of course), and jumping straight into his chest. His first thought was of the peculiarity that this particular form of communication was used. And then he discovered _why_ it was used—and all was clear.

_Severus!_ the voice of fellow professor Minerva McGonagall spoke urgently. _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in Albus' office! Come immediately!_

Impossible! Albus had said just yesterday that the Dark Lord was hiding out in the forests of Albania! No Dark Lord had ever infiltrated the sanctuary of Hogwarts. But if one could, it would be Lord Voldemort. Perhaps the Potter boy _was_ possessed, after all.

Severus Snape smirked slightly. His time had come.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" he shouted, his wand pointed upward and in the direction of the Charms classroom. _Filius! Lock down the school, gather everyone in the Great Hall! The Dark Lord is in Albus' office,_ he thought quickly, sending his missive.

A large, brilliantly white snake slithered up the front-most wall before sliding up through the ceiling.

"Leave!" he roared at his students, all of whom wore shocked expressions on their faces. He didn't even wait for the students to file out before rushing through his door and hurrying to the Headmaster's office.

*~*

"Tell me, Tom," Albus Dumbledore said while firing off a curse of livid red. "How did you manage to take over Harry?"

"I AM HARRY!" the boy of the same name shouted frantically.

"How did you manage to survive your curse, Tom?" Dumbledore asked calmly, a jet of brilliant gold racing toward his opponent, having been blasted from the tip of his own wand.

The golden jet, Harry having side-stepped it, hit one of the finely paneled walls of Dumbledore's office, reducing it to little more than ashes.

"I AM HARRY!"

"End the façade, Tom! You've been found out! Leave the boy's body—return to the next world, the very one that spat you out and said unto thee, 'Nay!'" Dumbledore, his voice rising and shaking, shouted. "Leave the boy; keep separate your affairs and those of the living!"

"I AM LIVING! I'M HARRY POTTER!"

Somewhere, a distant alarm—the sound of a wailing bird of some sort—sounded. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore paid it any heed.

"No, Tom. You ceased to live the moment you took your father's life—since before even the Eternus Noctem ritual! Depart from the boy, Tom, of your own accord, or I shall force you out!"

_Help me, Ginevra. Help me!_ Harry begged desperately.

_You have to fight him back, Harry!_ Ginny said between her tears of shock, sorrow, and fear. Harry was being attacked and there was virtually nothing she could do about it.

_EXPELLIARMUS!_ Harry shouted in his mind, his wand pointed at Dumbledore.

The force of the spell sent papers rustling and scorched a hole in Dumbledore's desk. The furious red beam flew at Dumbledore, who erected a shield of light-blue energy to absorb it.

"You've lost your touch, Tom. You've been doing that spell since your first year. I should know," Dumbledore said, "I taught it to you."

Dumbledore cast another spell at Harry, this one a brilliantly green hue. It hit the chair that Harry had occupied earlier, causing it to flash a brilliant shade of white before slowly fading from reality.

The office door then opened.

Professors McGonagall and Snape rushed in, wands drawn.

"_Stupefy!_" Professor McGonagall called out, her wand trained on Harry. A furious jet of red fired from her wand and Harry was forced to jump sideways on to Professor Dumbledore's desk to avoid the bolt.

"_Angorem!_" shouted Professor Snape, his wand pointed at Harry's throat.

Suddenly, he couldn't breath. He was choking for air, but unable to obtain any. It was as if someone had inserted a Galleon into his throat, constricting his airway.

_I can't breathe,_ Harry commented to Ginny, deadpan. He was going into shock. _I'm dying._

_I'm _NOT_dying!_ a part of him screamed.

_Yes, yes you are. You wanted this…_ a small, long-forgotten portion of his brain spoke to him. It's tone was sinister, mocking. _All those nights you prayed for death,_ it spat, _here is your reward._

Dots were appearing before his eyes, he could hear the blood rushing furiously in his ears, and he felt his face heat as his reserves of oxygen lowered. He could vaguely make out the sounds of voices as he tugged desperately at his throat.

He vaguely felt someone shoot a spell at him, he could more sense the green light it cast off, rather than see the actual spell.

And then every sense seemed to lessen, but at the same time increase exponentially. He could feel the air around him; it was cool, not at all like the furious heat of the Headmaster's office's battle-torn atmosphere. He could smell the air about him, he could breath. The scent of the room was one of polished wood, the smell of treacle tart (like he'd had at dinner the night previous), and light, flowery scent that made his brain feel fuzzy and unoccupied.

He could feel welcome arms wrapped around him, a comforting tug at his heart. He tried to look up, but could see nothing but red. He eventually stopped trying to gaze upon his grasper. He closed his eyes, a sad, contented smile on face. He embraced fate. If this was dying, it was not so very bad.

*~*

"Albus!" Minerva McGonagall shouted, alarmed. "What is happening to him?"

Harry's body was fizzling out, fading from existence, blurrily wavering. His features seemed to blur, his face becoming less distinct. Beside him on the floor, another figure was situated. It was stretched out, holding onto Harry's body with what appeared to be arms.

It held his body tight, as the features of both figures slowly sharpened. The figure holding Harry's body was that of a small girl, her hair was brilliantly red. She clung to Harry's neck, holding him in place. Harry's body gradually solidified back to normal, but the girl's remained translucent, like that of a ghost.

McGonagall and Snape both looked to Dumbledore for answers. They saw the wizened old man's shocked, and slightly terrified, face and knew that something of great importance had just occurred.

"I-It was not Lord Voldemort that shared his body." The old man's eyes were wide in realisation and awe. "His power, his greatest desire, any number of his abilities…" Dumbledore seemed to be mumbling to himself, his mouth slightly agape and his eyebrows soaring near his hairline.

"Who is this girl, Albus? She looks like… well—a young Lily!" Professor McGonagall said flabbergasted.

"She's disappearing, Headmaster!" said Severus Snape sharply. And indeed she was. Her arms, still slung about Harry's neck, were slowly becoming more and more translucent, before fading to nothing but the merest of shadows. Her body lasted but a moment longer, lingering with the raven-haired boy, before it too vanished.

"I wonder…" the Headmaster said softly, his voice permeated with the tenor of sorrow, although graced with a small, underlying note of hope. He gazed out of the window of his office, stroking his beard slowly. A moment later, he turned back to his two staff members.

"Minerva, Severus, may I impose upon the both of you to take Mr. Potter to the infirmary? I am afraid that you, Severus, may have to brew a few restorative draughts for Madame Pomfrey. I fear that neither of our curses has been overly beneficial to Mr. Potter's health. Sadly, I believe that my charm was harmful more than even your Strangulation curse, Severus," spoke the ancient wizard solemnly.

"Albus, what was that… was that the ghost of Lily Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall in shock, fear, awe, sadness, and curiosity.

"I do not know, dear Professor. I fear that we have done great wrong here today." The old man sighed in defeat, but with a trace of triumph. Harry hadn't been possessed, as the Headmaster and the Potions Professor had feared.

"That was _not_," the aged Headmaster continued, looking directly at Professor Snape, "the soul of Lord Voldemort that was sharing Mr. Potter's body." Snape nodded in agreement.

"I now ask that you take him to see Poppy, Minerva. Severus, please go along with her and aid Poppy as best you can. But first, I ask that you inform Filius that the school is secure, tell the students it was a drill, or whatever plausible excuse you might devise," the old man, now looking every one of his considerable sum of years, said to the two professors.

"Headmaster, I would like to discuss the matter of Harry with you later, if I may?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"I do not believe I will have many answers to give you, Minerva, but you may, of course, seek me later," the man said, nodding. "But until then, please see to it that Mr. Potter will be all right, physically at least."

McGonagall nodded curtly, her face the colour of chalk. She gazed for a moment at Harry's slumped body before lifting him up (nothing to sneeze at, considering her age), not bothering to use any number of spells that could do just the same, and carrying him from the Headmaster's office.

Snape gazed at Dumbledore for a moment longer, their eyes locked. Snape's face, so usually with a sneer, now looked very odd. There were many expressions flashing on the face of the ill-tempered Potions Master: Fear, thoughtfulness, regret, anger, disappointment, and a small—very small—bit of happiness.

He too turned on his heel, after nodding at the Headmaster with knitted eyebrows, and strode from the room, following behind the Transfiguration professor.

Dumbledore sighed heavily before walking to his chair. This chair had served him well over the years. For decades he had sat in this chair. He had plotted the resistance of Lord Voldemort from this chair. He had orchestrated the downfall of Grindelwald, Voldemort's predecessor, sitting in this chair.

He allowed himself to think of the events that had occurred during the wars against both of them. Both wars had been terrible, thousands of innocent people having fallen victim to them.

Grindelwald's tactics had been so much more straightforward—relying on brute force, not sneak attacks. Hundreds of wizards clashed against one another, curses flying erratically. That had been the way wars had been fought for thousands of years. Since before the time of Merlin, even.

But Lord Voldemort preferred a much more sinister, underhand form of warfare. He and his Death Eaters conducted raids, not battles. In many ways this was beneficial to the people: Casualties came at slower rates, full-scale battle rarely, if ever, occurred. But there were downsides to Voldemort's tactics. Terrible downsides.

One could never predict Voldemort's movements without the aid of one or more spies. There was never any warning—one moment a family could be dining, the next they would be dead, spread-eagle on the floor.

Against Grindelwald there had been ways to defend. Flanking, Divide and Conquer, Merlin's Charge, there had been ways.

Against Voldemort, there could be no real defence. It was a rare thing, but during the attacks that the resistance had been informed of, or the ones that a messenger had told them of while it was happening, the only defence they had at their disposal was offence.

It was lucky that Voldemort himself only ever attacked at high-priority places. Only the most important or outspoken families were ever personally killed by Voldemort. Only the most powerful strongholds had been assaulted by the vile Lord himself. The Ministry of Magic in London was one of the few places that had ever attacked personally more than once, and even then he had been thwarted by Albus Dumbledore on all three occasions.

Sometimes Voldemort had fought Dumbledore to a standstill, on other occasions Dumbledore had actually defeated Voldemort, but always narrowly. Dumbledore had been defeated himself on more than one occasion, but Voldemort had been wounded enough to retreat afterwards.

In the running tally that Dumbledore had kept in his mind until Lord Voldemort's fall nearly a decade before, the standings were thus: Voldemort had defeated Dumbledore three times, Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort two times, and twice they had fought without a clear victor. Seven times Dumbledore had confronted Voldemort in battle. And seven times Dumbledore had come out of it injured and drained both physically and magically.

But those times had since passed. It had been ten years since he last had battled Voldemort. The ten years since Voldemort's fall had been a time of relative peace. There had been a few renegade Death Eaters to do away with, but they had, for the most, been captured within a year of his fall.

But now times were turbulent once more. The recent break-in at Gringotts—a feat that had never occurred before with any measure of success—had been kept quiet by both the goblins and the Ministry, but it still worried Dumbledore, and the others that knew of it.

It worried Dumbledore more than anyone else, however, because the vault that had been broken into held an object of immeasurable worth. It was something that—in the wrong hands—could be utterly disastrous.

Dumbledore could think of only two people who could possibly break into Gringotts successfully, and as he was not the culprit, that meant that Lord Voldemort was. _But then,_ he reminded himself,_one day Harry will have the power as well._

The question was, however, how had Voldemort, who was believed to be hiding in Albania, broken into Gringotts. "It would appear that I must make a trip to Albania," he said to his office in general.

"What ever for, Albus?" a voice asked.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts smiled sadly to the portrait that had voiced the query. "I fear that your favourite student has found a way to return here. I trust that you witnessed, though perhaps in feigned slumber, my minor battle with young Harry Potter, Armando?" asked Dumbledore of a portrait on his wall.

There were many, many portraits lining the Headmaster's office. All of the past Heads of Hogwarts kept a portrait, to which each head regularly added memories to until their passing, for the use of the current Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts. They often gave advice, but spent an inane amount of time either sleeping or feigning it.

Nicolas the Narcoleptic was one of the first ten Headmasters of Hogwarts, and would often fall asleep at inopportune and uncomfortable moments. His portrait—which he had opted to have put up after his resignation, rather than upon his death—shared this habit. It wasn't long before the other heads began to do it as well.

Dumbledore had once asked one of the portraits why they did it. "You'd be amazed what one overhears when one feigns sleep, young Dumbledore," was the response from a Headmaster Alphard Inebrius, a wizard who often had a red nose to accompany his equally red cheeks.

The portrait who he had addressed a moment previous pulled him from his remembrance. "Yes, I did happen to catch… _points_ of your skirmish. Though, Albus, I must say that it is hardly fair to call the Dark Lord my favourite student. Tom Riddle was my favourite student, but I never taught _Lord Voldemort,_ as far as I am concerned," said the old wizard—Armando Dippet—huffily.

"Nonetheless, I must venture to the Black Forest to check upon his location. If he has, as I fear, found a way to return to Britain, then I believe it to be only a matter of time before he finds a way to enter Hogwarts itself," said Dumbledore solemnly.

There were shouts of "Surely not!" and "Impossible!" from the portraits of the Heads, but Dumbledore ignored them. He knew that it was perfectly possible to infiltrate Hogwarts. It simply was immensely difficult.

Sombrely, Dumbledore replied, "I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that if anyone could find a way to infiltrate Hogwarts, it is Tom Riddle."

*~*

Minerva McGonagall walked through the halls of Hogwarts, the limp form of Harry Potter in her arms. _It's lucky the boy weighs so little!_ she remarked to herself. She was no spring chicken anymore—she not half Dumbledore's age, but her youth had been lost nonetheless.

_I can't believe Severus used a Strangulation curse on a student—a Gryffindor of all people! Well,_ she admitted to herself, _I can believe the Gryffindor part._ Severus Snape's hatred of Gryffindors was well-known and well-documented. She had no personal dislike for the man, he was cold and distant, but not altogether loathsome to the aging witch. _But then,_ she reminded herself, _he was my student once._

She could remember Severus' Hogwarts days clearly. They were not happy times for the boy. She remembered that during his first couple of years in Slytherin house, he was not very well liked. Over time, however, he had earned the respect of his housemates because of his never-ceasing war with James Potter and his friends.

She smiled sadly at the things the four Gryffindors used to put the most Slytherin man she had ever known through.

So nostalgic was she that she did not see a twin pair of red-heads catch sight of the body in her arms. She also didn't see their looks of shock and horror, nor did she see the two boys run, top speed, to Gryffindor Tower.

The professor of Transfiguration continued on her way, stalking through the halls in a very catlike manner, holding the limp form of Harry Potter in her arms. It was lucky that all of the students were in the Great Hall, she thought. There could have been a good deal of trouble, otherwise. And that blasted Hogwarts Rumour Mill would certainly be working full-force if anyone were to see a professor carrying an unconscious boy about the castle.

She continued to walk through the corridors and up and down the staircases of Hogwarts for the next ten minutes, before coming to a halt outside of the door of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

She knocked on the door awkwardly, still holding Harry's flaccid form. "Poppy? Are you here?" she asked, opening the door slightly and poking her head in.

She opened the door more fully, bringing into view the bustling healer. "Yes, yes, what is it?" she asked busily.

It was then, as Madame Pomfrey spoke, that Professor McGonagall noticed that she was not the only occupant of the room. There were half a dozen students—most of them first years—lying in beds, pale and shaking.

"Mr. Potter had a bit of an accident, Poppy," McGonagall said absently, looking about the students. None of them seemed to have registered that McGonagall had entered, nor had they noticed the body she held in her arms.

"Harry Potter?" asked the nurse interestedly as she looked up from a student who seemed to be only partially conscious.

"Yes, Harry Potter," she said impatiently. So many people reacted in this way to the boy's name. "He's in need of some restorative draughts and perhaps some bed rest, I don't know what else."

"All right," said the healer. "Go put him in bed seven, please." The healer resumed her work, running her wand over a pug-faced first year girl's forehead.

"You're quite alright, Ms. Parkinson. You may leave now, and please take Mr. Malfoy here with you as well. The pair of you are perfectly fine to be returning to your common room," said the nurse, annoyed.

_Malfoy?_ McGonagall thought as she set Harry's body down on a bed, a large number 7 embossed on a brass plaque above the head of the bed. It was common knowledge that the two disliked, nay despised, one another; their pseudo-duel in the Charms corridor was well-known to the staff, though it had happened a long enough amount of time ago to be able to forgo punishment. _Potter's adversary is here to see him injured? Oh yes, the entire school will be buzzing within the hour,_ she thought dismally.

"What did you say Mr. Potter's accident was, Professor?" asked Madame Pomfrey as she moved toward bed number seven after having seen Parkinson and Malfoy out.

Professor McGonagall warily glanced at the bed-ridden students. Pomfrey noticed her gaze. "They all had panic attacks when the alarm sounded. Do not worry, they are all on heavy sedative potions, they don't know a thing that's happening around them," she assured her.

McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry, Poppy, but I can't tell you that. I don't think it would be beneficial for too many people to be aware of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Potter's state of health. Will you please do what you can for him? I need to have a discussion with Headmaster Dumbledore shortly and would like to be assured of Mr. Potter's health before I depart."

Madame Pomfrey didn't look at all pleased that she would be treated like a mushroom being cultivated, but it wasn't the first time in her career that she had been kept in the dark about certain students' injuries. "Very well. Is there anything in particular that I should know before checking him over?"

"He will have had spell damage to his neck and will likely sleep for quite a while," the professor of Transfiguration said carefully.

Pomfrey eyed the Transfiguration professor incredulously for a moment before nodding and turning to her charge. McGonagall, taking this as her cue, quietly exited the Hospital Wing.

*~*

"Come in!" Albus Dumbledore called as Minerva McGonagall made use of Dumbledore's ornate door-knocker.

"Hello, Minerva," Dumbledore said amiably as McGonagall opened the door and entered the room. Dumbledore withdrew his wand and conjured a comfortable-looking armchair for her to sit in.

"What troubles you, dear Professor? And would a lemon drop help matters?" he asked hopefully.

"Albus, what occurred with Harry Potter earlier? Why did you believe that the Dark Lord inhabited Potter's body?" asked the professor, completely ignoring the Headmaster's offer of lemon drops.

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "Mr. Potter, as you may have witnessed already, is capable of some astounding feats.

"Three days ago, after his run-in with Mr. Malfoy, he found where I had kept the Mirror of Erised. He broke through the wards, without conscious thought."

McGonagall gasped. "Albus! That simply isn't possible! Those were very powerful wards—I wouldn't have been able to break them!"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "You would find that, if it were necessary, you could deconstruct the wards in, perhaps, two hours," Dumbledore contradicted. "Mr. Potter managed it without realising that he was doing anything at all.

"I felt the wards collapse. As you know, I attuned them to me, so that I might know immediately when they had collapsed. Upon feeling their failing, I cast the Invisibility charm on myself and momentarily deactivated the Anti-Apparation wards around my office and the Room of Erised. I Apparated there, fully ready to battle Lord Voldemort, and encountered Harry, who was standing in the room in obvious distress.

"The astounding thing, whether you choose to believe it or not, was not that Harry had entered the room. The astonishing thing was that the moment I had appeared in the room, still invisible, Harry had sensed me. He knew of my presence!

"He took me to be a threat, and began shooting—without conscious thought—jets of _pure, unrefined_ magical energy at me. I was floored—he knew of my presence, despite there being no sign of my existence in the room.

"After a minute or so of me avoiding his beams of energy, I managed to calm him enough to cease fire. What happened after is irrelevant, so I shall proceed to my next point."

McGonagall looked ready to object, but Dumbledore raised a hand to head her off. "Moving on to today. I was sitting in my office, writing a letter of recommendation for our Auror-to-be, when this instrument," he grabbed from his desk a small, many spoked wheel made from, what appeared to be, silver. "This, as you may know, tells me where many spells are being cast outside of classrooms, here in Hogwarts.

"I inspected this instrument, before seeing that a conglomeration of students were fighting one another in the Defence corridor. I immediately set off for the corridor, seeing that there were no professors in the area—save Professor Quirrell, who could not be relied upon to stave off a riot—and hoped that there were no injuries.

"Upon arriving, I found that more than a dozen students—all of them first years—were dueling each other in either magical or Muggle fashions. Only two students within view were not battling their fellows—Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, both of whom belong to your house. Harry made a comment that he thought them likely to attract trouble if they did not depart immediately, at which point I spoke up, my flair for the dramatic getting the better of me.

"I asked what had happened and young Mr. Malfoy lied to me, telling me that Harry had cursed him—for apparently no reason at all—and that the Gryffindors had—once more, for no reason whatsoever—attacked the Slytherins.

"I performed Legilimency on the boy and saw that what he had told to me was false, and showed me the real events. As it transpires, young Mr. Potter was walking away from Defence, when Mr. Malfoy made a comment about his mother's having been a Muggle-born.

"And then Mr. Potter did something that astounds me. He turned on his heel and, without uttering a single word, blasted a Striking charm at the boy. It was the most powerful of its kind I've ever witnessed, secondhand or otherwise. Mr. Malfoy was blown back and into a wall." Dumbledore had wonder in his eye, and Professor McGonagall was unable to stifle a gasp.

Harry was capable of nonverbal magic—and at such an age with such spectacular results? She glowed proudly for a moment, remembering that that was _her_ student that had performed this feat. Dumbledore then continued.

"The other students, having witnessed the skirmish, then joined the fighting. Misters Crabbe and Goyle charged at Harry, but his friend Ron Weasley charged back. From there, it all became chaotic.

"Another feat that young Mr. Potter has accomplished, one that irks Severus—and to a lesser extent me—to no end, is an astounding grasp at Occlumency. Severus has found himself continually unable to gain access to the boy's mind. His shields are unlike any other's I've ever encountered… it is difficult to explain to someone who has not performed the same act…" Dumbledore trailed off.

"All of these things, coupled with the Stone being stolen from Gringotts, caused me to act in a manner that could have been avoided with further thought."

"Albus, how is the boy capable of all of this?" asked McGonagall, completely flabbergasted.

"I have suspicions, Minerva, but nothing more than that. And I am afraid that my only theory as to why that girl appeared beside Harry is one that cannot be properly tested without great pains and suspicious acts. I fear that we may be forced to wait for Harry to tell us who the girl was—for I believe that he knows—rather than finding out for ourselves."

Dumbledore absently reached into the folds of his robes. He withdrew a magnificent pocket watch. It bore twelve hands, but no numbers. Only planets, engraved into the dial, which spun around continuously.

He suddenly rose to his feet. "I am afraid, Professor, that I must be leaving."

McGonagall looked at him wildly. "To where, Albus? What business have you beyond these walls?"

"I am afraid, my dear Professor, that if Lord Voldemort is not in possession of Harry's body, than he is lurking elsewhere. I have the feeling that he is here, in the castle. There have been dark events occurring as of late and I believe he has something to do with them. I am departing for the Black Forest in Albania, where I hope to find that Lord Voldemort still resides."

Professor McGonagall looked horrified, but accepted his decisions as irreversible. "Very well, Albus. For how long will you be absent?"

"As long as a week, I am afraid, Professor. There are detections that I must make, and they could take time if Lord Voldemort has migrated to a different section of the forest. I ask that you look over Hogwarts in my leave."

"Yes, Headmaster," McGonagall responded automatically.

"Good day, Professor."

Minerva McGonagall rose to her feet, gave Dumbledore a nod, and strode out the door, still too shocked over the revelations of their conversation to do much more.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, after the door had shut, and took a deep breath. A moment later, a brilliantly red phoenix appeared in the room, accompanied by a burst of flames. It was about the size of a swan, with scarlet plumage and a golden brown beak.

"Hello, old friend. Are you ready for another journey?" asked Dumbledore of the magnificent bird.

It trilled in the affirmative, flapping its wings above Dumbledore and offering to him one of his scarlet tail-feathers. Dumbledore smiled at his companion before seizing his tail. With a blaze, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his phoenix disappeared to the Albanian forests.

A moment after they had gone, a blood chilling, high-pitched laugh resounded in the Headmaster's office.

**AN: And you thought I was dead.**


	15. Chapter 15: Torn Asunder

**Chapter XV: Torn Asunder**

Albus Dumbledore and his scarlet feathered companion appeared in a dark wood accompanied by an explosion of flame.

"Return to the castle, Fawkes, for you are the only one who will find me here," Dumbledore whispered quietly to his winged traveling companion but a moment after they had appeared.

With a small trill, Fawkes flew up a few metres before bursting aflame once more, returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in case an urgent message needed to be sent to the white bearded old man.

As the light of the flames died down, the trees about him were shrouded in darkness. The moon offered no light to the base of the forest, both the trees and clouds cloaked the moon entirely. The sun had set less than an hour ago, but it was raining heavily in Albania, so what little light that could have been given off from it had Dumbledore left an hour before was a moot point.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, a cloud of vapor, byproduct of the cold of the air and the oxygen and warmth in his breath, appearing as he blew that breath out. He removed his wand from the folds of his robes and, wordlessly, the aged wizard lit the tip of his wand, illuminating the dark forest before him.

His mission would be a trying one—he must locate Lord Voldemort, verifying his presence in the forest, without being detected by the Dark Lord. He would have liked to perform a detection spell on the Dark Lord, but he knew better—Lord Voldemort, spirit though he was, would detect it. The man, or what ever he was, had undergone enough rituals—the Eternus Nocte ritual notwithstanding—to be very sensitive to magicks of all kind.

Albus Dumbledore was wary, in fact, of casting so much as an Illumination charm, such as he just had, in fear that Lord Voldemort would detect it. Dumbledore didn't know, exactly, where he would find Voldemort in this forest—it was possible that the Dark Lord was right behind him.

He turned and looked at the spot his back was facing cautiously. He sighed as he found it empty.

It would be a long week.

*~*

At first there was nothing. Nothing but blackness. So complete was it that one would not be thought foolish for thinking themselves blind. But slowly, very slowly, a shadow began to form in the darkness.

It materialised at a snail's pace. The form stood erect for a moment before, after but a moment's serenity, the form began to shake and shudder violently.

He tried to cry out, but his mouth was not functional. Did he have a mouth? He shakily reached up with his arm, trying to touch his mouth. But when he got to where his mouth should be, there was nothing but a cool sensation in his fingertips and his jaw. _Ginny?_ he asked in fright.

_Harry?_ her voice asked, but it was distorted, like she was speaking to him through a long tunnel. _What's going on, Harry?_

Gin! Where are you?

I'm in my room at the Burrow. What's happening, Harry? Everything's gone weird—My body… it's not solid—and you sound like you're speaking through a tunnel. Where are you? she asked, her concern being heard even through the distortion of the darkness.

_I—I don't know. Everything's… everything's dark. The last thing I remember was being hit by Snape's curse… Then I blacked out,_ he explained.

_I keep shaking!_ he said in rage as he furiously tried to force his limbs to hold still. It was, however, to no avail. His limbs were making erratic movements that were beginning to become painful.

He could feel his teeth chattering, though they were not touching one another in this world of objects not solid. The pain began to increase and he grunted in resistance against the shaking. His eyes screwed shut as he tried to keep the pain out. His face, he could feel, was convulsing, the muscles clenching and unclenching sporadically. He began to groan in the pain. _Ginny…_ he whimpered in his head.

And then his head was cleaved in two. His hands flew up, the shaking being overpowered by primal instinct. He screamed as loud as he had ever in all his life. All of Uncle Vernon's beatings paled in comparison to the all-consuming pain that was in his head. It was as if something was splitting his very essence in two.

_HARRY!_ Ginny's voice screamed in his head quite clearly, in stark contrast with the distant sound it had held earlier. It echoed eerily for a moment, before dying out entirely.

And then Harry heard the most terrible sound in the world. It was the sound of the brokenhearted, of the distraught; it was silence.

*~*

Gryffindor Tower was in a panic. One of their own was injured. From what they'd heard, it was very bad. Not only was it one of their own, it was their saviour: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

The majority of Gryffindors had arrived back at the Tower to find the red-head pranksters, Fred and George Weasley, wearing looks of gloominess and solemnity. Percy Weasley, their brother, but more importantly, a prefect, looked murderous when he saw them there.

He had been making a fuss about his twin brothers not being with the rest of the Gryffindors in the Great Hall when the emergency drill had sounded, and the appearance of them sitting in Gryffindor Tower infuriated him.

"WHERE HAVE YOU TWO BEEN? DO YOU KNOW WHA—" he cut himself off, seeing the looks on the faces of the twins.

"What's up, Fred, George?" asked Lee Jordan, their best friend who happened to be at the head of the group of Gryffindors.

The twins took identical deep breaths. George started, "We heard the alarm going off and thought it would be a perfect time to try a new prank we've bee—"

"YOU TWO CANNOT BE DOING THAT!" Percy shouted. "YOU CANNOT GO THROUGH YOUR HOGWARTS EDUCATION PLAYING _JOKES_!"

The twins shot him dirty looks, as did many of the Gryffindors who wanted to hear the twins' explanation.

They took another deep breath. "We were on our way to the Astronomy Tower to do our prank when we saw Professor McGonagall walking by," said Fred.

"We were about to run away when we saw that she was carrying something—some_one_."

"We couldn't see what at first, so we followed her for a moment, trying to get into position to see the face of whoever she was carrying. We thought we might tease the kid—I mean, it's not everyday that Professor McGonagall carries you through the halls," said George.

"Well, when we got close enough to see who it was…" George trailed off. He let out a large sigh. "It was Harry Potter." Several people in the room gasped as Ron paled. Many of the Gryffindors appeared as if they were now ready to go charge the Slytherin common room—as they were the usual culprits when a Gryffindor was injured. "He looked… really bad. He was pale and unconscious…"

"Do you know what happened?" shouted a second year girl from the back of the group.

The twins shook their heads. "We just know what he looked like after what ever happened occurred," said Fred.

"I think we might know what happened," said Hermione Granger quietly from the left-front of the group.

Many of the Gryffindors turned to look at the bushy-haired, bucktoothed girl. "We, that is the first years, had just had Defence with the Slytherins." There was a collective "oh" in the room, as if having Defence with the Slytherins would explain any injuries. Perhaps to the older students it made perfect sense for students to be injured by other students in _Defence_ classes.

"Harry and Ron were halfway down the Defence corridor when Draco Malfoy said something mean about Harry's Mum."

"Something mean? He called her a Mudblood!" Ron shouted. Many of the Gryffindors made loud comments of outrage.

"Malfoy?" asked Fred Weasley. "As in Lucius Malfoy?"

Ron nodded. "His son."

The twins nodded grimly to Ron. That explains it then." They nodded again at Hermione, urging her on with her story.

"Well… Harry spun around and shot a spell at Malfoy. I don't know what it was—I've never read about it. It didn't have any colour—it was just like a jet of air. But it was enormous," she said. "But the amazing thing wasn't that—he did it nonverbally!" she said loudly, shock, awe, and jealousy in her voice.

There were murmurs and highly-raised eyebrows at this. No first year should be able to perform nonverbal spells.

"_Pulsat_, you reckon, Oliver?" asked one of the twins of a burly fifth year boy.

"Could be," he responded noncommittally.

"It was huge!" Ron cut in. "It knocked Malfoy up against the wall and he just fell down to the bottom, slumped over like."

"Harry Potter attacked a student?" asked Percy dumbly. Ron looked at him impatiently. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!" he cried. Several cushions from the couch that the twins sat on and half a dozen spells were thrown at the redheaded prefect.

"You're just mad because you can't do nonverbal spells, but a first year can!" said one of the twins loudly and indignantly. Percy looked ruffled and glared at them.

"Keep going, Ron or," the twins looked at Hermione, "it's Hermione?"

She nodded, blushing at having a third year ask her name. "Right. Well, one of you continue on then," said George.

"Well, Crabbe and Goyle—they're Malfoy's lackeys—they started charging at Harry. So, I charged back," Ron said proudly, his chest jutted out in a show of defiance against the silent Percy.

"Dean and Seamus," he motioned to the two boys, who were standing next to a couple of Gryffindor fourth years off to the side, "did too. Then another Slytherin joined in with Crabbe and Goyle, some girl—"

"YOU ATTACKED A GIRL! RONALD WEASLEY WERE ARE YOUR MANNE—"

"She's hardly a girl! Looks more like a bludgers than a girl," Ron grumbled in indignation.

Percy opened his mouth to reply angrily, but was cut off by Hermione. "You shouldn't call her that! She's just less… feminine than other girls!"

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but thankfully Fred cut him off. "Keep going, please! I want to know why Harry is lying in, presumably, the Hospital Wing, in bad enough shape that he had to be carried up by Professor McGonagall!"

"The other Gryffindors got into the fight. I was watching the fight, not Harry. He could have been hexed by one of the Slytherins," said Hermione.

"What stopped this fight of yours?" asked George.

The first years all blushed. "Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quietly, his ears flaming.

"Dumbledore!" exclaimed the twins. "You got caught by _Dumbledore_? Oh, little bro, our condolences!"

"Then, Malfoy lied—he said that Harry just attacked him out of the blue, the other Slytherins said so too. Harry went with the Headmaster to his office. That's the last time we saw him," Ron said angrily.

"Well, Dumbledore's not very likely to attack him," said Angelina Johnson, who had met Harry a few days earlier. "It must have been one of the Slytherins."

"It was probably Malfoy!" Ron said heatedly. "He could have gotten up while we weren't paying attention and cursed Harry."

"It's possible," agreed Hermione, "I've read about time-release spells. He could have cast a Stunning spell with a delay on it."

"Could a first year cast a Stunning spell?" asked someone from the back.

"He's Draco Malfoy; he's probably been tutored in magic since he was old enough to hold a wand. And his father's in well enough with the Ministry to get it overlooked. I wouldn't doubt that he knows how to do all sorts of hexes and curses," commented George bleakly.

"I don't think it was a Stunning spell, though. McGonagall could have reversed that. Easily," commented Oliver, the burly fifth year.

Others in the crowd of Gryffindors, Percy included, were nodding in agreement.

The twins looked at each other before nodded and turning back to the crowd. "We'll take care of this." Percy opened his mouth in object, but the twins said something that promptly shut his mouth and made him turn a deep shade of red. "Perce, if you say a word we're going to tell all of Gryffindor Tower what we found in your room this summer." Both twins looked at him sharply as they spoke, frowns of seriousness splayed on their faces.

*~*

"Ginny dear?" asked Molly Weasley as she knocked on the door of her ten year old daughter's bedroom. She hadn't been out of her room since before dinner, which had been served three hours ago. She had claimed she wasn't hungry, and had gone to her room earlier with the excuse that she was feeling tired.

There was no answer to the redheaded woman's call. "Ginny?" she asked, peeking her head inside the room, having opened the door slightly.

Ginny was lying on her bed in tears. She was crying furiously, though she made no sound or movement. She lay on her side, a dead look in her eye.

"Ginny, dear, what's the matter?" asked Molly in concern. Her motherly instincts were screaming at her to care for her baby, to discover what troubled her and reverse it immediately.

But Ginny didn't answer; she just stared blankly at the wall behind Molly, as if she hadn't so much as heard her.

Molly crossed the room to her daughter's bed. She crouched down before her daughter, looking into her eyes. Her eyes gave away almost no emotion; they were very blank, as if there wasn't a soul inside her. She briefly entertained the frightful idea of a dark creature having taken her soul. But she knew that such was folly. Her oldest son, Bill, had constructed wards around the property to keep out every manner of dark creature.

Molly, as concerned as a mother can be—which is quite concerned—looked more deeply in to her daughter's eyes. There was sadness there, pain. Molly, who had already been wearing a deep frown, frowned all the deeper.

"Ginny, are you alright, dear?" asked Molly concernedly once more. She did not like to see her baby girl so obviously distraught—it irked her all the more that she did not know the source of her despair.

"Do you miss your brothers?" she asked, guessing. "They'll be back for Christmas before you know it, dear," she assured. "Bill and Charlie too, if I've anything to say about it."

Ginny still showed no response.

"Ginny, I don't know what's wrong, dear, but you can't go around not speaking," she said. She wrung her hands nervously. "Dear, _what_ is wrong?"

Ginny looked like she wasn't going to answer once more, but she slowly opened her mouth ever-so-slightly. "Nothing, Mum," she murmured blankly.

The Weasley matriarch wouldn't be dispirited, however. "Then why are you crying?" she asked, beginning to get irritated.

"No reason, Mum," the small redhead said quietly, without looking at her mother.

Molly Weasley sighed in frustration. "I don't know what's wrong, Ginny, and I don't know why you won' tell me. But you will not be leaving this room until you tell me what is wrong!"

"Yes, Mum."

Molly Weasley took a deep breath, scowled a little further, and strode from the room. She didn't know what was wrong with her daughter, but she would find out.

*~*

Ginny was filled with emptiness. She was the most lonely she had ever been in her life. Harry was gone—he had simply disappeared. And when he did, she had become solid once more. But that didn't matter—she didn't care if she had a body. She wanted to feel Harry in her mind again, to feel his presence.

She felt so barren. _Harry!_ she called out in her mind once again. She knew it was hopeless, that he was gone. It tore her to pieces that it had happened. It felt like her very soul had been ripped.

Immediately after the connection had severed and she had solidified once more, she had sought something—anything—that would bring Harry back to her. In the end, she settled for standing on her bed and clutching the toilet seat that he and the twins had sent her less than a week before.

But she had given up that comfort. She had ended up lying on her bed and clutching a blanket to her chest. The tears continuously flowed and she subconsciously registered that she was shutting down. Her body and her mind were so full of sorrow and pain that her every sense felt like it was on fire. It was pain beyond pain.

Having Harry's presence removed from hers was the most terrible thing she had ever experienced, or that she likely ever would. Without Harry, there was no hope in the world—no happiness. There was just this bleak reality to which she belonged.

A part of her wanted to go to Hogwarts, to find Harry, to ensure his safety. But the other part of her—the part that currently held dominance—couldn't bring herself to move from her bed. She couldn't expend the effort; she was so tired. She had no energy in her body and slowly, tears still streaming furiously down her face, she succumbed to a trance-like, faux sleep.

*~*

Harry Potter lay in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, currently unconscious. He had been asleep since Professor McGonagall had brought him in and, Madame Pomfrey noted somberly, he didn't seem likely to any time soon. It was for this reason that she could be found walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, headed for the office of Professor Minerva McGonagall.

After a five minute trek from her usual domain, Madame Poppy Pomfrey had reached the door of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. She seized the door handle, turned it clockwise, and applied the correct pressure to quickly open the door without slamming it into the wall that it came to rest upon having completed its turn.

"Minerva?" called out the Hogwarts healer. A rustling could be heard coming from a door to her immediate left before the figure of the aged Transfiguration teacher appeared in its frame.

"Poppy?" she asked in her Scottish brogue. "What is it?" It was an uncommon thing for Madame Pomfrey to venture from her realm, and it had been several years since she had been in this particular Transfiguration classroom.

"We need to discuss Mr. Potter's condition, Minerva," she said sternly. It was enough that Harry's condition was not exemplary, but Madame Pomfrey was not even given the facts of how his condition had come to be.

"What about it, Poppy? Has he yet to wake?" asked the professor.

"No, Minerva, he has not! His condition has not changed in the least since you brought him in. Now what happened to the boy, Minerva? For if I am to properly treat the boy, I must know. Rejuvenatives alone have not been effective in improving his condition and I want to know what's happened, what I must do to improve that condition!"

Professor McGonagall looked instantly worried. "You've no idea what ails the boy?" she asked nervously.

"I have no idea whatsoever! Whatever it is managed to cut the boy's magic in half—literally in half! When he came in he showed signs of magical exhaustion, but what it is now, even I do not know! I have seen only one similar case in all my days—and that involved a magical draining spell gone awry! This boy certainly cannot perform a magical drainage spell—he's a first year!" Madame Pomfrey was building up a head of steam and Professor McGonagall, recognising this, cut her off.

"I'm afraid I will have to consult the headmaster. Please return to Mr. Potter, I will request that Albus come himself to look over the boy. He may know more about what has happened to the boy."

Madame Pomfrey didn't look particularly pleased that she would not get the chance to rant a little bit more, but nodded strode from the room with a turn of her heel.

As Madame Pomfrey exited, Minerva McGonagall gave a heavy sigh. _What spell had Albus used on him?_ she asked herself. The incantation had been arcane, something that McGonagall herself did not understand.

Under different circumstances, she might have thought it was Severus' curse that had done the damage, but the Strangulation curse, while a Dark curse, was not so uncommon that there was no known potion that would heal it. Any number of spells and potions could treat it, but Dumbledore's spell…

He _had_ said that it was more harmful than Severus'. That in and of itself had worried her at the time, Severus' curse wasn't exactly benign. Its intent was death, after all. She wondered briefly what would, or indeed could, be more harmful than her colleague's curse that didn't end in instantaneous death.

She shook herself. She was supposed to be contacting Dumbledore. "Fawkes!" she called out. Instantly there was a flash of brilliant flame above her head as the red-plumaged bird materialised in the room.

"I need you to take a message to Dumbledore, Fawkes," she said as she scribbled a note hastily on a piece of parchment using an eagle-feather quill that she retrieved from her desk.

She handed it to Fawkes, who grasped it in one talon. He soared to the top of the classroom and disappeared once more in a flash of flame.

McGonagall sighed. She grasped the handle to her door and exited her classroom. She was going to the Headmaster's office to await his return.

*~*

Albus Dumbledore stood in the centre of the Black Forest, his wand raised in case of attackers. One could never be too careful in these sections of the world. Suddenly, a burst of flame caused him to flick his wand in the direction of the fireball, startled. He was then greeted by a wet and unhappy-looking Fawkes.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Sometimes my reflexes are simply too honed, my old friend." The phoenix gave him a funny look before flying to his outstretched arm and jutting out his talon, the one that bore the note from Professor McGonagall.

_Albus,_ the note began, _Poppy has just been to see me. She says that Harry's condition has not changed. She asked what had happened to him, I did not give her an answer. I ask that you return to the castle, Headmaster, for I believe that you are the only one that is capable of helping Harry now. We simply do not know what spell you cast._

Sincerely,

Minerva

Dumbledore sighed wearily. This was something he had been most fearful of. The spell he had cast on the boy was a very risky one. It would have ejected Lord Voldemort from Harry's body. The problem lay, however, in that Lord Voldemort was _not_ in Harry's body. Someone else was.

He idly wondered who shared Harry's body and why. There were bonds that accomplish such feats, but they were nearly all too powerful to be overcome by the spell that Dumbledore had cast. It was absolutely unheard of for one so young to be bonded to anyone, it simply required too much magic, emotion, and a parent.

Life debts—soul bonds—maternal bonds (always instigated by the mother, who would be the only one with any power over it)—apprenticeship bonds… Dumbledore sighed thinking about this. He rubbed both of his temples with his middle and forefingers in a vain attempt to stave off his impending headache.

But there were more important matters at hand. Lord Voldemort would have to wait—for Dumbledore had yet to discover any sign of the Dark Lord—while he saw to Mr. Harry Potter.

He reached up, grasped his companion's tail feathers, and disappeared in a flash of flame.

*~*

Albus Dumbledore reappeared in the centre of his silent office. It was entirely empty, save Dumbledore and Fawkes. Well, he thought it was empty. Professor Minerva McGonagall, however, was present in the room. She stood with her back to him, gazing out the window onto the grounds of Hogwarts.

It was nearly ten o'clock at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but the persistent and aged Transfiguration professor had seen fit to await Dumbledore's arrival.

"Hello, Professor." As the Headmaster spoke, Professor McGonagall leapt half a foot in the air and spun around upon her landing.

"Albus!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even see Fawkes bring you in!"

Dumbledore just smiled genially at her. He then skipped the formalities and got to the matter at hand. "What has spurred you to recall me from a mission of such importance, Minerva?" he asked without anger or irritation in his voice, rather there was muted curiosity in his tone.

"As I explained in my note," she began, "Harry's condition has not changed. He remains unconscious and shows no signs of regaining awareness. I don't know what spell you cast on the boy, Albus, but Poppy has completely failed to treat him in any way. She says that rejuvenatives have all been futile. She told me that when he arrived it appeared to be a case of magical exhaustion, but that he seems to have lost half of his magic. She said that it had been 'cut in half'.

"What did you do to him, Albus?" she asked. She was trying to keep her tone even, but there was a hint of accusation in her voice.

The aged headmaster sighed wearily. "I cast an old curse on him, Minerva." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It is a spell that will force the souls of a person to show themselves. It has no effect against someone who has only one soul in them. Harry is not such a person. He is, or I fear was, carrying another soul with his."

The old man's face grew wearier. "I am afraid that I had not taken into account a possible risk. If the bond between the souls is not powerful enough, or perhaps is not old enough, it can force the souls to part. This could result in the death of the parasitical soul."

"Do you have any idea about the identity of the girl who shared Harry's body?" asked McGonagall.

Dumbledore sighed once more. "I have a theory, but it is just that—a theory."

"Do you know how to reverse the course of your spell's affects? Is it possible?" McGonagall asked concernedly.

Dumbledore exhaled deeply with a grim smile on his face. "There are ways. But I daren't risk them unless I am left with no other option."

The two fell into a contemplative silence for a few moments. McGonagall's thoughts centred on what could be done to help Harry, whilst Dumbledore's thoughts were centralised on how he could remove Harry from his slumber without harming him further. There was also the matter of extracting pertinent information from the boy.

With a long sigh, Dumbledore made the first movement toward the door. "I believe we should be off to see Poppy now, Minerva. I may be able to extract Harry from his slumber; I only pray it will not have adverse affects on him."

Professor McGonagall smiled sadly as she followed her headmaster out of his office. The two ambled through the halls quickly and with purpose. They would have to get to Harry as soon as possible.

They were nearly to the Hospital Wing when a pair of redheads were seen walking through a tapestry to their left. The professors continued to walk, neither seeming to have noticed them, as the redheads tried to carefully go back behind the tapestry and hide from the two Professors. The ever omniscient Albus Dumbledore, however, would not ignore their presence.

"I would recommend staying in the tower at this time of night, Misters Weasley." Fred and George Weasley, as well as Professor McGonagall, froze. The Weasley twins weren't aware they'd been caught, and Professor McGonagall didn't know that they were there.

The twins looked spooked. "Yes, sir!" they said quickly. They ran through the tapestry from whence they'd come, leaving before Professor McGonagall got the idea to take points from Gryffindor.

"Those two will be the death of me," McGonagall said in obvious annoyance.

Dumbledore, however, simply smiled. "I think you have a softer spot for them than you are willing to admit." McGonagall sighed loudly in exasperation and picked up the pace to the Hospital Wing.

A few minutes later, Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore stood outside of the Hospital Wing door. They stood staring at it, as if expecting it to open up and admit them entrance. Both had looks of hesitation on their faces. Slowly and with vacillation, Professor McGonagall reached out her hand and seized the door handle. With a sigh, she turned it to the right and stepped in to the medical centre of Hogwarts.

The two traversed the room to Harry's bed. He lay there completely still except for the small and slow rise and fall motion of his chest. The first thing that the pair of them noticed was how very pale he looked. It reminded them both, mockingly and hauntingly, of the pitch white tone of the Dark Lord Voldemort's skin.

Harry's scar stood out vividly, it throbbed a deep, furious red colour. It stood very starkly against the boy's ashen face. Harry seemed very small, lying in this hospital bed. It was the most defenceless that either professor had seen him for nearly ten years.

Even in sleep, Harry's expression was one of deep pain and sorrow. The two professors gazed at the boy solemnly for a moment. The headmaster reached out a gnarled hand to slide away some of the boy's hair from his face. And that's when it happened—Harry began to convulse.

"Summon Poppy!" Dumbledore said in a harsh whisper as he whipped out his wand. Professor McGonagall ran into the healer's office to bring her to Harry as Dumbledore pointed his wand at the sickly boy in a manner that suggested he was ready to both attack and defend, should it be necessary.

He kept his wand leveled as Madam Pomfrey entered the main ward of the Hospital Wing and crossed the room, McGonagall at her side, to her most high-profiled patient's bed. Upon her arrival, she began to check the boy over, feeling his pulse and pressing her palm to the convulsing boy's forehead.

"It's not fever induced and it's nothing to do with his heart-rate," said she in haste as she scrambled about her shelves, retrieving potion after potion. Dumbledore put a hand on her forearm, ceasing her movements.

"It is my fear, Poppy, that this is not something that can be stopped by any medicinal potion you possess. I believe that what has happened to Mr. Potter here is something that only the caster of the spell which affected him in such a way could possibly reverse." He looked very tired and very sorrowful as he spoke.

The two women in the room stared at him, silently urging him to get on with it. McGonagall, of course, knew that Dumbledore was referring to himself, but Madame Pomfrey was looking at him incredulously, as if waiting for him to open up his mouth and tell them who had cast the spell on the injured boy.

Dumbledore leveled his wand once again, training it on the boy's heart. "What are you doing, Headmaster!" exclaimed Madame Pomfrey.

"I am afraid, dear woman, that it is _my_ spell that has affected Harry so negatively." The sorrow in Dumbledore's words, had it not been pronounced in his voice as well, could clearly be seen in his eyes. They did not twinkle, nor did they look remotely joyous. Professor McGonagall reasoned that it tore Dumbledore apart that he had caused this affect on a student—one that he held in such regard and had such high hopes for.

"_Expergefacere!_" Dumbledore thundered, his wand still pointed at the boy's heart. The old man's voice, filled with the tenor of power, permeated the entire room and echoed eerily off of the walls that weren't lined with curative potions. As Dumbledore completed the incantation, he gave a small twirl at the end of his wand so that the cone of light that formed from his wand would encircle Harry's heart.

It failed. Harry did not wake.

Dumbledore sighed very wearily. "Minerva, please cast the _Petrificus Totalus_ spell on him. He must not shake if this is to work properly."

Professor McGonagall immediately whipped out her wand and trained it on Harry. "Wait!" cried out Madam Pomfrey.

"You cannot cast a petrification spell on the boy! To use a holding spell on one having a seizure, whose origin can not be determined, could be wholly catastrophic!"

Dumbledore nodded grimly with the woman's assessment. "Yes," he said somberly, "it could be. It must, however, be done."

McGonagall, who had seen a shadow move to Harry's side a moment before and was thusly staring at the spot where she thought she'd seen it, took that as her cue. She pointed her wand at the boy once more, after having removed it due to Poppy's outburst, and cast the spell silently.

Instantly, the boy's body ceased shaking and froze in place.

Dumbledore acted quickly. There wasn't much time to lose, for every second that the boy was held in place by magical means; the more chance there was for one of those catastrophic possibilities to become realities.

"_Expergefacere!_" he shouted, more tiredly this time. This particular awakening spell was very draining, particularly for a wizard who had spent most of the day dueling someone or scouring an obscure forest for clues of a Dark Lord.

But, perhaps because the power of this spell was unrivaled in their kind, Harry Potter's eyes fluttered open. What they saw next terrified them.

**AN: My second FDPS update in two days? What is the world coming to? Anyway, please read and review, and read and review some of my other stories – any of them, really. They're all worth your attention – at LEAST as worthy as this story. **


	16. Chapter 16: The Leap of Faith

**Chapter XVI: The Leap of Faith**

Harry's head throbbed, his joints sizzled, and his skin felt as if it were tearing itself apart. But he didn't feel any of it. Not really. Everything was different—he wasn't a part of it. He felt so very detached from everything; he knew that he was in pain—perhaps very intense pain—but it was like watching a murder on a television programme. He knew that what was happening was terrible, but he viewed it all apathetically and without emotion.

He felt so empty—so barren. There was nothing left. A very powerful ache was in his chest—like his very soul had been ripped, torn from his body. It was the one thing he could feel clearly. It was pain beyond pain. The pain transcended the longing that he felt for Ginny's presence—a not so muted sort of longing.

There was nothing—just nothing. It was akin to living in a place where music constantly plays, joyous, wonderful music, and then being confronted with absolute silence. That coupled with Harry's intense feeling of loneliness, which he could recognise even through the fog of his detached disorientation, created a sense of disparity that would have brought a murderer to tears.

There was no single coherent thought in Harry's mind. There were scores of thoughts, all jumbled amongst one another. Each thought crushed Harry all the more as the gravity of the situation weighed him down further.

He would never hear Ginny's voice in his mind again.

In his mind he let out a sound like a wounded dog's whimper. As so often happens to those with horrors in their pasts, Harry allowed the misery of the situation depress him further and further until he felt nothing at all.

Feeling nothing was better than feeling all-consuming pain, wasn't it?

But the pain remained. It could not be shut out. Only the vilest of evils endures.

Harry let himself delve deeper and deeper into his depression, losing trace of all emotion _other_ than the pain. There was no trickle of happiness, a remnant of his time spent with Ginny in his mind. There was no relic of emotion, just the pain. The pain, the sorrow, the self-pity.

And then a terrible thought leaked into his mind, shouting above his pain and making itself known amongst the rubble of his thoughts.

_If it is this bad for me, is it worse for Ginevra?_ Harry savoured the sound of the name in his mind; he suspected he would for the rest of his days.

_And if she doesn't care?_ queried a voice in his mind that tormented him with his deepest, darkest thoughts. It was a voice that reminded him firmly of terror, of despair. It was a voice that had every right to be with him now. _What if _she _cut off the link? What if she doesn't want anything to do with _you?

And Harry knew, deep down, that the voice spoke truth. It had always spoke truth. The terrible, irrevocable truth was its vice and it played its suit to the death. It had been this voice that had urged him to end the suffering he experienced at the Dursleys'. It was this voice, the voice of terrible reason, the voice that had filled his thoughts with morbid imagery in his cupboard, the voice that had contained so much sagacity as it whispered invitingly in his ear.

_And why would she?_ the voice whispered tauntingly. _You're nothing! You're a _freak_! A freak whose parents abandoned him; a freak whose mother was a whore! A whore that not even the slum-dwellers wouldn't touch. You're father was a drunk, a failure who gloried in the filthiest of women. That's what you're the product of—a drug-addicted whore and a drunk vagrant!_

Everything he'd learned at Hogwarts, all he'd learned from Hagrid, from all of the magical people he'd met, had gone straight out of his head. He was four years old again, locked in a small, oppressive cupboard.

Aunt Petunia was sticking his hand in boiling bacon grease—he'd let Dudley's breakfast burn.

Dudley and his friends were drowning him in a toilet—having released him from his prison only to make their first attempt at murder.

Uncle Vernon was whipping him with his belt—he'd lost a business deal and Harry's very existence was to blame.

All three Dursleys were telling Harry about his vagabond father and prostitute mother before he knew what either word meant—telling him about their illegal and sordid behaviour.

Aunt Marge was casually suggesting that she wouldn't even feed Harry to her dogs—she wouldn't want them to become infected with the boy's unnaturalness.

With each memory, Harry slipped farther and farther into himself. He became consumed with grief, pain, despair, and a powerful sense of worthlessness. There were none who could claim to love him.

_Love?_ repeated the voice softly, its tenor bitter and dripping of poison and resentment. _Love is man's false idol._

And then he was shaken from his catatonia. There was light.

*~*

Three of the four occupants of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing recoiled at seeing Harry Potter's gaze.

There was pain there, Albus Dumbledore noted gravely, intense pain; the type that cripples even the most serene of men. There was little else beside pain, however. The boy's green eyes, always so full of sparkle and life, were dull and lifeless. It was remarkable the similarities between the eyes of young Harry Potter and one who has been subjected to the Dementors' Kiss.

_His eyes!_ Minerva McGonagall exclaimed to herself in horror. _They're so lifeless!_ The boy's gaze was a terrible sight to behold. There was simply nothing there! Blankness, that was all that Minerva McGonagall could see in the boy's look.

But no; something else stirred beyond the boy's irises. It was pain—pain of the most intense degree she had ever seen. It astounded her how much Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the saviour of the wizarding world, looked abandoned and lost. He had the look about him of a boy who no longer knew his place in the world; the look of a boy who had seen and experienced horrors far beyond what anyone else could comprehend.

_Sweet Merlin!_ exclaimed Poppy Pomfrey in silent horror. _Has the boy been Kissed?_ she asked, horrorstruck.

She chose to verbalize her question. "Albus! Has he been Kissed? A partial Kiss, perhaps? It could garner such results."

Albus Dumbledore had tears in his eyes, a fact that shocked both Pomfrey and McGonagall, as he responded. "No, Poppy, but his fate is nearly as condemned."

Albus turned toward the silent Harry. "Harry? Can you hear me, Harry?" the man's unshed tears threatened to trickled down into Dumbledore's white mustache as he voiced his query.

Harry gave no response; he didn't seem to have heard the Headmaster of Hogwarts at all.

"Harry," the Headmaster began anew, "it is very important that you respond."

Again, Harry offered no response. The boy's eyes were glazed and unfocused. They looked at a spot over Dumbledore's right shoulder, though they didn't seem to be actually viewing anything actively.

Dumbledore sighed in frustration. He came to a resolution—he would once more attempt to employ Legilimency against the boy. Perhaps his spell had shaken the boy's so very unusual Occlumency shields?

Dumbledore gently reached out a withered hand and grasped Harry's chin. He turned the boy's face up so that their eyes were meeting.

Dumbledore peered into them and delved into the mind of an emotionally disturbed pre-teen. What he saw was not what he was prepared for.

He gasped in shock at the images that began to filtre into his mind, quite unimpeded.

He watched as a boy was seized by the scruff of the neck and bodily thrown into a dark cupboard, there was a sickening crunch as the familiar, raven haired, boy's arm broke.

He watched as an image of a diminutive red-headed girl glared hatefully at him before fading from view. Dumbledore felt Harry's overwhelming pain as this image was displayed.

Dumbledore listened as three different voices, one guttural and male and two high-pitched and whiny, called Harry every manner of names.

The insults about Harry's mother and father began to play in the boy's mind before Dumbledore pulled out.

He stumbled back as he returned to reality. He reached out a shaky hand and located a rail that indicated he was up against a hospital bed. He sat down slowly and, with shaky movements, he brought his face into his hands.

The two other alert occupants of the ward looked flashed looks between Harry and Dumbledore, their gazes unanimously concerned.

They did not notice as Dumbledore began to weep silently, nor did they notice when Harry closed his eyes and let the darkness take him once more.

*~*

There were a number of reasons why Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune, would feel like doing a many-twirled dance in the Great Hall while wearing a tutu. Perhaps his father had just been elected Minister. Perhaps he had just received word that his favourite uncle had died at dawn—leaving him with an inheritance. Or perhaps, and probably most likely, he had embraced his sexuality with open arms.

Shockingly enough, however, none of these were the reason why Draco Malfoy was prancing about the hall in the most absurd of outfits. You see, his father had not been elected Minister—the current one was owned by a Malfoy, but was not a Malfoy himself. His favourite uncle hadn't died at dawn, for Draco Malfoy had only one uncle by blood and he could be considered the favourite only by default. And that man certainly wasn't going to die any time soon. And, the most shocking revelation of them all, Draco Malfoy was _not_ performing an overzealous ritual of sexual acceptance and openness. He simply had had an unfortunate run-in with Fred and George Weasley.

Albus Dumbledore watched all of this detachedly. His favourite pupil, one that he had wronged severely, was lying in the Hospital Wing presently. The boy had yet to respond to any questions from his Head of House, nurse, or Headmaster. The boy was simply a shell, and every time that Dumbledore performed Legilimency on him, he realised that the boy was much more than a shell. He was a shell that was in terrible pain—pain that could not be remedied by any medicine that man or beast could provide.

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh as he rose to his feet from his gilded chair at the centre of the Head Table. He pointed his wand at the twirling first year and canceled the various charms placed on him by the Weasley twins.

The Headmaster simply didn't have the energy to do any more than sit back down and return to his pondering, ignoring the renewed laughter at the expense of the suddenly mortified boy.

*~*

Harry Potter lay in his bed in the Hospital Wing and unseeingly stared at the ceiling above him. It was made of a deep slate gray stone material, like all of the ceilings in Hogwarts seemed to be. It was in sharp contrast with the gleaming white and tiled floor of the wing. The walls were papered with cream coloured paper that bore occasionally moving stars.

The bed he was in was rigid but comfortable. His medicinal garb—a pair of woolen pajamas—were quite scratchy and rather uncomfortable for the prone boy. His bed's railings, made of brass, gleamed at his side, highly polished. The sheets in the Hospital Wing were also woolen and were dyed a deep red colour, much like one half of the Gryffindor House colour scheme. His pillow was bright white and was rather stiffer than one would regularly prefer when in a state of infirmity.

Harry took notice of none of this.

Without announcement, Harry slowly sat up in his bed. He turned his head toward the main entrance of the infirmary, his eyes lingering on it for a moment. He then slowly swung his legs to the side of his bed. He put his left foot to the tile floor first. He dully noted that it was cool to his touch. He then lowered his right foot and began the upward swing that would render him upright.

He took one step at a time, his pace even and unhalting. He looked down at his bare feet as he walked across the room and seized the door handle, before turning it and stepping into the corridor adjacent to the Hospital Wing.

His feet automatically took him to Gryffindor Tower, an odd thing considering he had a great deal of trouble finding it at the best of times, and Harry continued to stare down at his feet as he moved.

He noted that nearly all of the students in Hogwarts were running about on the grounds or relaxing under a tree, either way enjoying the weather that had only just yesterday become warm. Their brief interlude from classes, as it was lunch time, being enjoyed to the fullest.

But Harry felt neither warmth nor contentment. He felt the pain, the all-consuming pain. The remarks made by his darker half probably were not helping his cause.

_You'd do well to end it, you know,_ the voice would say enticingly. The voice had encouraged him to do all manner of things over the years, and one thing that Harry had learned in his dark isolation in the cupboard under the stairs was that the voice always won.

Harry, however, blocked out the voice as best he could. There would be no 'ending it'. It was probably just a misunderstanding, Ginny hadn't abandoned him. He clung to this like a mantra, one to cancel out the voice's earlier taunts, _Love?_ the voice had spoken with poison. _Love is man's false idol._

_Something went wrong, it was a misunderstanding. It was a misunderstanding. It was misunderstanding,_ he repeated to himself, clinging frantically to his mantra.

He made it to the Fat Lady's portrait after a few more minutes. He glanced at it before muttering the password, which had yet to change.

He looked around the Gryffindor common room out of habit as he ambled toward the boy's dormitory. He was stopped by a voice.

"Harry?"

Harry turned slowly toward the speaker. Standing before the empty fireplace was Neville Longbottom, a round faced boy that shared a dormitory with Harry. Harry hadn't really talked to him, but hadn't felt that he was dark in any way.

Neville opened his mouth to say something else, but he caught sight of Harry's pale face and seemed to change what he was saying mid-sentence. "How—are you going to do flying lessons with us today, Harry? It's just after lunch."

Harry stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the boy. He continued to stare until Neville got the distinct impression that he would not answer, he did however. A small nod showed his affirmation. As much as the thought depressed him, and it did wholly, he realised that he would have to keep on trying to do things normally. He and Ginny, the name made his pain feel more acute, had been looking forward to the flying lessons. Ginny, another twinge, had been adamant in her belief that Harry would be an excellent flyer, whereas Harry was certain he'd only make a fool of himself.

If Neville noticed the shadow pass beyond Harry's eyes, he made no indication of it.

"Well—er—why don't you go put on your robes and I'll go down to the Quidditch pitch with you," he said nervously. "It's the one place in this school that I can find."

Ten minutes later, the bell signifying the end of lunch having ringed, Harry and Neville could be seen walking down to the Quidditch pitch. They arrived at the pitch to see that the Gryffindors had flying lessons with, of all people, the Slytherins.

"Hey! It's Potty!" Draco Malfoy called out from the group. "What were you doing in the—" He undoubtedly would have continued had Madame Hooch, the flying instructor, not strode up to the group at that exact moment.

"Hello, all," she called out as Harry and Neville shuffled over to their fellow Gryffindor boys, who were gathered opposite Madame Hooch.

"Harry!" Ron whispered to Harry when he and Neville made it to the group.

Harry, a dead look in his eyes, didn't give any indication of having heard him.

"Right. All of you, form a line and stand beside a broom," Hooch commanded. The first years all shuffled toward a broom as they lined up. Draco Malfoy could be heard making loud comments about having been flying for years. He evidently was trying to make up for his rather embarrassing earlier situation by boasting and over-dramatising or outright fabricating every story that he could come up with.

"You will all place your right hands over the broom at your side and say 'Up!'" she commanded.

The students did just that, they placed their hands over their broom and shouted the word. Harry, however, did not. He simply lifted his hand over the broom and murmured the monosyllabic word.

It fascinated a part of him that just saying the word 'up', one that was completely unrelated to anything to do with Ginny, hurt him.

The broom that he held his hand over did not so much as budge. Harry noted that Draco Malfoy's broom had done exactly as he'd asked and had flown into his outstretched hand. Ron's broom had done much the same as Malfoy's, Harry saw by looking to his right.

Harry bent over slowly and grasped the broom before straightening his back and standing erect once more. He noticed that the other students who'd not had any luck commanding their brooms were just continuing to shout at their brooms. It was an exercise in futility, to be sure.

Once everyone had either commanded their brooms up to them, or had otherwise managed to secure a broom in the palm of their hands, Madame Hooch blew a high-pitched whistle. "Now everyone mount your broom and kick off of the ground hard. You will hover a metre or so in the air before leveling your broom out and then you will lean forward on your broom, bringing you back to the ground. There will be _no_ horseplay or I will inform your Head of House. Do I make myself plain?"

Everyone nodded nervously and mounted their brooms. The first years kicked off of the ground and hovered momentarily before most of them tilted forward slightly and returned to the ground. Neville Longbottom, in his jitters, managed to lose control of his broom. Where the other students had leveled out in their levitation, Neville had rocketed, his broom spiraling toward the heavens.

"STOP, BOY!" shouted Madame Hooch. When Neville gave no indication of being able to stop, she withdrew her wand from her jet-black robes. "_Impedimenta!_" she bellowed, her wand trained on Neville's terrified form.

A wave of displaced air shot toward the boy. When the wave seemed to catch him, he and his broom suddenly slowed considerably, still moving but greatly slowed.

Neville remained that way for perhaps ten seconds when, in the boy's fright, he began to flail wildly and fall from his broom.

Madam Hooch, who had mounted a broom of her own to retrieve the boy from his renegade broom, was helpless to stop Neville from falling from the height of fifty feet to the grassy ground with a distinctly disturbing thud, landing harshly on his side.

"Oh dear, foolish boy," Hooch muttered to herself as she landed beside the prone form of Neville Longbottom. She immediately put her middle and index fingers to the boy's neck, checking for a pulse.

The Gryffindors who looked on were all wearing expressions of concern and worry, whilst the Slytherins appeared to be trying their hardest not to break into peals of laughter. Draco Malfoy wasn't even bothering to cover his loud snickers, nor were Crabbe and Goyle, .his loudly guffawing cronies

Hooch shot Malfoy and his groupies a dangerous look as she conjured a stretcher and placed Neville's limp form on it. The stretcher followed behind her, as if it were being pulled by an imaginary rope. She had almost exited the pitch when she looked back and leaned over her shoulder. "If I find that a single one of you has lifted from the ground, the culprit will find himself out of Hogwarts before he can say 'Quidditch'!" she promised.

And with that she turned strode on to the castle.

The moment she was out of earshot, Draco Malfoy started up. "Did you see the fat buffoon?" he asked with a cackle. "Shame he didn't fall on his fat arse—he'd've just bounced a ways!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" said a surprisingly cold voice from behind the crowd. The crowd parted, showing Hermione Granger standing there with her fists clenched and fire in her eyes.

Ron's ears turned an alarming shade of scarlet.

"And what've you got to do with it, Mudblood?" sneered Malfoy.

Another mistake.

Ron ripped his wand from his robes and fired the Disarming charm at the boy before most anyone had noticed he had his wand out. Unfortunately for him, his spell missed.

Crabbe and Goyle came charging at him as Malfoy withdrew his own wand. Today, it seemed, was a day of firsts as Hermione Granger withdrew her own wand and fired a spell at the charging Goyle.

"_Locomotor Mortis!_" she shouted.

Goyle's legs instantly locked, causing him to fall flat on his face as his body continued to go forward while his legs kept in place.

He fell to the ground with a large thump and Draco Malfoy leapt over him as he charged at Ron.

"_Expelliarmus!_" shouted Malfoy as he charged at Ron. The jet of red connected, pushing Ron back slightly and throwing his wand from his grasp.

Everyone looked to Harry, expecting him to defend his friend and curse Malfoy. He, however, stood blankly and stared at the carnage, his wand still in his robes.

It was then that twin blurs of red soared down to the pitch from the sky. They swooped down and dive-bombed Crabbe and Malfoy, the two in question covering their heads from the onslaught.

The two blurs landed a moment later and had their wands trained on Malfoy.

"We thought," said one of them, "that you would have learned your lesson by now, Malfoy."

"But we've been wrong before," conceded the other.

"So tell us—"

"O Pompous One—"

"What are you doing—"

"Cursing our little brother?"

Malfoy looked horrorstruck when he realised who the red-headed terrors were. His speech reflected his terror, "I—er—just—um—nothing—er—only—um—not—er…"

"Yes, we thought so."

"Now why don't you run along—"

"And kiss Snape's arse."

Malfoy's fury was beginning to catch up to his mortification. "Blood traitors!" he sputtered angrily.

"Yes," said one of the twins, his voice dripping of sarcasm and disgust, "we're blood traitors because our family didn't follow your daddy's boss. Now be a good little racist and run along."

Malfoy looked infuriated. He had opened his mouth to retort when Fred and George twirled the tips of their wands and covered the blond boy's face with boils.

The boy tentatively put his fingers to his face, having felt the unusual sensation accompanied by the hex, and gasped in horror when he felt the boils. "Y-y-_you!_" he exclaimed, sputtering.

His pale skin went a deep crimson as he turned his wand toward Goyle. "_Finite Incantatum!_" he exclaimed, freeing the boy from his leg-locked pose. "Come on!" he roared to his followers.

He sprinted away, his cohorts running clumsily to catch up.

"All right, all, nothing to see here! Clear out!" shouted the twins.

One of the Slytherins, a rat-faced boy, casually reached into his robe, though his face belied his cool actions. "And you!" exclaimed one of the twins, pointing his long finger at the rat-faced boy. "You leave this place before we have to cart you out!"

The Slytherin glared menacingly, but left along with the rest of the students. Harry, too, began to walk away, his body on autopilot. He was following behind Hermione Granger, who seemed quite upset that she had attacked a student. Under different circumstances, Harry would have congratulated her or consoled her. He had no thought of doing so currently, however.

His feet carried him to the castle; he never heard the shouts from the Weasleys to come back to the pitch. He continued up the sloping lanes and entered through the same opening that the rest of the students did. The Slytherins, once they'd crossed into the castle, turned left to return to their common room. The Gryffindors turned right, going to theirs. Harry, however, continued forward, wandering the halls without aim.

_You wouldn't even defend your _friend_, Potter?_ the voice laughed at him. _Some _friend _you are, Potter._

He continued walking through the halls, his gaze blank. His feet eventually carried him to a lone doorway somewhere on the fourth floor. He stared at the door for a moment before opening it. He found the room to be quite empty, not so much as a spider inhabited this room.

He traversed the room before leaning up against a wall and slumping downward.

_Pain beyond pain,_ the voice continued to say. _Pain beyond pain._

To be unaware is bliss, do you want bliss? I can offer you bliss. You know what you must do. No one will care—you're an awful friend. You wouldn't help the ones being cursed, you would let go so easily the most important thing in your life. If only you'd tried harder, boy. There'd have been a chance for you. But no, now you must do it. You know you must.

Embrace release, boy.

And so it continued, the voice enticing Harry closer and closer to the brink, until well after dusk.

*~*

Harry stood atop the Astronomy tower, a place he'd never been before. He placed his hands on the cold stone of the tower's waist-high wall and gazed at the world before him. With nightfall had come harsh wind and bitter cold. Harry embraced that cold. It was cleansing; it purified him. He had been taught long ago that pain could lead one to atonement. The Dursleys had taught him that. If he were beaten sufficiently, all sins were forgiven.

This was his own private form of attaining absolution.

_Do it,_ the voice whispered in Harry's ear. _Sweet release, Harry._

Harry closed his eyes and let his body sway in the howling wind.

_Your parents, Harry. You will see them again, you know._

Some of him knew that the voice spoke lies. It had always been lies. But it had always seemed truth.

Most of him, however, didn't care in the least. He stepped on the wall and stood up straight, gazing at the world before him. It was not quite his ideal last image, but it was peaceful enough.

He turned slowly and gazed at the entrance to the tower. There was a short hallway where a hatch lay. An opening, doorless, was before him. Perhaps this would be his last sight.

He never saw the shadow in the centre of the opening.

Harry closed his eyes and leaned back.

_Embrace fate._

_**A/N: Thank you very much for reading. Please review. And if you would like to read more of my work, I would direct you to **__**Rebellion**__**, the first chapter of which will be posted tonight, 4 December 2010.**_


	17. Chapter 17: Asylum Animae

**Chapter XVII: Asylum Animae**

It is said that the body realises that it will die a split second before it does. As a body falls from a lethal height, the body will react defensively the moment before it is to hit the ground. In the case of one bonded, the soul will seek its other half and take refuge in a sanctuary, a place that cannot be called upon by negative forces. It is a place known as Asylum Animae, The Sanctuary of Souls. Those who venture to Asylum Animae will find that the world they've stepped into, one of spirits and souls, not of physical bodies, is something of a mirror image to their physical world. Everything, as is said, has an opposite. For life, it is death. Love, hate. Elation, despair. It is only natural, therefore, that our own Physical Plane would have its own opposite: The Astral.

"Where _is_ he?" asked Ron Weasley in frustration for the tenth time that night. When Ron had charged at Malfoy, unaided by Harry, he had felt hurt. His best mate had not had his back. He had been especially angry when that same best mate had left with the rest of the students, ignoring the calls of Ron and his brothers.

Gryffindor Tower was alive with noise and movement, Ron Weasley being the loudest and most moving of them all. He had continued to pace back and forth and angrily ask the air around him where Harry was for more than two hours now.

"Ron, he's probably just trying to get some space," Fred Weasley said, his voice calm. His real feelings on the matter were quite the opposite, however. He was not calm. He was bordering on frantic. Harry was a good friend of the Weasley twins and they both had been most aggrieved to learn of his injury.

But Harry was free from the Hospital Wing now, though no one had any idea where he had gotten to. After the flying lessons that the first year students had taken earlier in the day, Harry had walked off with the rest of the first years and had disappeared from there. No one knew where he had gone.

Fred and George were worried and they agreed; if Harry wasn't back in an hour, they'd go find him. They had ways of discovering the locations of people in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but they sincerely hoped they wouldn't have to employ any of their techniques.

Hermione Granger, a first year girl with bushy hair and unusually large two front teeth, was sitting near the fire with a large tome lying on her lap. _Hogwarts, A History_ it was called. It really was fascinating, this book. She couldn't seem to get into a good flow with reading it, however. Her mind kept wandering back to Ron's defence of her during their class earlier.

Why did the boy continue to come to her aid? The two argued whenever they spoke and the boy never showed any signs of friendliness, but the moment that Draco Malfoy opened his mouth to call her a disgusting name like "Mudblood," Ron came running. Perhaps it was just out of hatred for the Slytherin boy? Yes, that seemed feasible. Between Malfoy, Ron, and Harry there seemed to exist an intense animosity.

And then there was the subject of Harry. She didn't pretend to know him well, in fact she'd not said more than a few sentences to the boy, but she could tell that something was quite wrong with him. His demeanour today had been much like her grandfather's when her grandmother had died.

She shook her head in confusion and returned to her thick, leather-bound volume.

Albus Dumbledore was concerned. Madame Pomfrey had been in his office earlier that day, not long after noon, to inform him that Harry Potter had left the Hospital Wing without clearance. She had been quite upset by this, as no patient was to leave without her consent. The events since then had worsened.

The Headmaster had told her to return to her to return to her quarters, that what Harry had done was likely part of the healing process. Dumbledore had dismissed the matron before she could ask exactly _what_ the boy needed to be healed of.

Dumbledore had been informed by a Gryffindor prefect that a fight had broken out amongst the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins for the second time in three days. The whispers that had reached Dumbledore's ears, the whispers that alleged Voldemort had left his hiding place, made this matter all the more grave. If Lord Voldemort had indeed abandoned his shelter, Britain was his most likely destination. And when the Dark Lord was in the country, something that hadn't occurred for a decade, trouble invariably followed. The Gryffindor/Slytherin conflict posed the serious issue of unity, or rather the enmity that replaced it. Unity would be crucial if the magical society were to resist a comeback from the Dark Lord.

It was unfortunate and distressing, however, that Gryffindor/Slytherin relations were not his largest problem. Nor was it his second largest.

Both of his largest problems lie with one boy. He was a most extraordinary boy, but a boy nonetheless.

Albus Dumbledore had been to visit Harry Potter when he was unconscious in the Hospital Wing an hour or so before lunch earlier that day. The boy seemed to slip in and out of consciousness, never staying awake for more than a moment or two. But when the boy was unconscious, a most disturbing and unusual thing would happen. His face would contort and emotions ranging from pain to sadness and grief to agony would cross his face.

His face held the appearance and spontaneity of emotion that was not uncommon in one who was experiencing some sort of assault. Mental, verbal, physical, it mattered not. Dumbledore wondered intensely whether he had damaged the boy's brain in such a way that some sort of malignant insanity had overtaken the child.

The Headmaster gave himself a slight shake, pushing the thought from his mind. There was still his largest problem to consider.

Harry Potter's disappearance. The boy had simply disappeared. His fellow Gryffindors had gone on to History of Magic, but Harry had not gone with them. Dumbledore knew, because he had gone, under guise of invisibility, to check on the raven-haired lad himself. He hadn't been there, though a distinctly ruffled looking Ron Weasley was. He looked quite out of place without his black-haired cohort beside him.

With a sigh, Dumbledore came to a decision. He stood, his legs aching at the joints, from his grand desk. Dumbledore scratched at his beard for a moment before meandering to the other side of the room, where the door stood. He seized the gleaming handle and turned it to the right and proceeded to step on to the magically revolving staircase after closing the door behind him.

The stone gargoyles parted, granting him access to the corridor. He looked to his right; this was the passage that would take him to his destination. His feet took him in his preferred direction for half a minute before he stopped outside of an old tapestry showing the image of a monk with his fingers bent backwards. It was a rather grotesque tapestry.

He reached out with his right hand and pulled back on the tapestry. Once it had been moved aside, he squeezed through the hole in the wall that lay behind the drapery. The room was sparsely lit, a single hole in the ceiling being its only source of light.

The distinct scent of the road less traveled assaulted his nose, the smell of dust causing the old wizard to make a displeased face. He crouched under a spider web as he crossed the room, stopping before a stone archway. He looked at it for a moment, gazing at the runes running along it, before stepping through.

There was a whirling of lights and sounds for a moment before he came to a stop. He was in a dark and narrow passageway; he could feel the cold air blowing at him. It blew hard, meeting little resistance through the hole-ridden wall. The chill caused him to grasp the sides of his cloak and wrap it more tightly around himself. He crossed his arms, his hands tucked in, seeking warmth between his arms and his chest, as he walked to the end of the corridor where an iron-wrought spiral staircase stood—the sole way down from the high tower's isolated corridor.

Albus Dumbledore strode across the dark room that lay at the bottom of the stairs for a moment before coming to a dead stop. Standing before him were the Weasley twins.

"—think he is, George."

"Where else would he be going, Fred? Trelawney's room?"

"The map doesn't necessarily say he's going to the Astronomy Tower. Maybe he just needs to use the loo?"

"He's been all out of sorts all day, Fred. I don't trust him being on the Astronomy Tower, and I really don't think he's going to the loo. He just walked passed one."

"Maybe it's out of order?"

George didn't respond. "Okay, so he probably is going to the Astronomy Tower, what does it matter?" asked Fred.

"Think! He's been out of sorts all day—he shouldn't be up at heights like that if he's all zombie-like as it is!"

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see. The map will show if he's on the tower, and if he is we can—can just…" Fred spun around quickly, his eyes wide in amazement and fear at the sight of his Headmaster before him.

"I must admit that I am surprised to see another in this room, though if it were going to be someone, I'm not astonished that it is you two," Dumbledore stated plainly.

George spun around just as quickly at hearing Dumbledore's voice. Both of the Weasley twins were doing excellent impressions of goldfish as they gawked at the Headmaster before them. They seemed to come back to their senses as they turned around and began trying to shove an old piece of parchment under an upturned desk.

"There is no need to hide James's old map. I recognised it for what it was, of course. I had wondered how it had managed to disappear from Mr. Filch's inventory," said Dumbledore with a chuckle.

"J-James, sir?" asked one of the twins quickly. Despite their fear of being in hot water, they were overwhelmed with curiosity. They had wondered for a long time who had made the map they now held in their hands.

"Potter," he said simply.

"Harry's dad?" asked the other twin in haste.

"One in the same. James Potter and the other Gryffindor boys in his year were quite the troublemakers in their day. Certain Transfiguration professors have gone so far as to call them forerunners to the two of you.

"I trust that you discovered this chamber with the aid of James's map?"

The twins nodded dumbly. Their protégé's father was the creator of the Weasley twins' most holy relic?

"I am not surprised. James and his fellows spent quite a lot of time up here. I daresay they were the only ones, however. This is quite an old room."

"We…we'd figured, sir. We thought it was probably a part of the attic that was cleared out," said George. "But… blimey! Harry's dad?" His face then went pale.

"Professor, do you know what is wrong with Harry?" asked Fred.

Dumbledore suddenly appeared quite a bit older than his considerable age. "I am afraid, Messieurs, that I could not say what it is that ails Mr. Potter," said the old man. He knew that it would not do to present his hypotheses to the twins. Dumbledore knew that he was the reason that Harry had come to be the way he is, but he did not know exactly what had happened to the boy. He could only guess.

"Might I ask that you take advantage of that wonderful map and tell me where he's gotten off to? I am afraid that he seems rather unstable as of late."

Fred and George stumbled over themselves to respond. "He's heading for the Astronomy Tower, Professor," they said quickly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Misters Weasley. I will leave you to your most extraordinary map, then. Please do not let that fall into the wrong hands—enemies of Hogwarts could find it a very useful tool."

The twins nodded nervously as Dumbledore turned on his heel and strode from the ancient room.

_Well, that was certainly easier than performing Legilimency on half of Gryffindor house._

The moment Dumbledore's swishing cloak had vanished from view up the staircase, the Weasley twins blew out a breath.

"Why'd he go up there, you reckon?" asked Fred.

George shrugged. The only entrance that they knew of to this room was in the side of the room, accessible only through the Weasleys' secret entrance behind the six foot tall portrait of Ms. Denea Ravenclaw—a supposed descendent of the legendary Rowena Ravenclaw of the Hogwarts House that bears her name and, some rumours insisted, the illegitimate child of Godric Gryffindor as well. The portrait was located down at the end of the corridor of the Weasley twins' dormitory, but they were, as far as they were aware, the only ones who knew what lay behind it.

The staircase that Dumbledore had left through simply took them to an old corridor with a small window and a dead end.

"He must Disapparate," George concluded.

Fred nodded his agreement.

"Do you think we should go to Harry? Or should we just let Dumbledore handle it?" asked Fred.

George looked unworried. "Nah, Dumbledore's going after him—he'll be fine. Come on, it's _Dumbledore_ !"

Fred still looked wary. "Yes, well… I suppose."

"You worry too much, my dear brother!" George assured him with a laugh.

"Yeah, you're right. It _is_ Dumbledore, after all." Fred grinned slightly, his own words reassuring him.

"Shall we inform Ickle-Ronniekins that Harrykins will be alright? Or should we let him sweat a little?" George asked, his voice filled with deviance.

"Tell him he's jumping off of the Astronomy Tower."

They left.

Albus Dumbledore hurried to the Astronomy Tower, post-haste. Harry's mental condition was unstable—that much was demonstrated by his reactions to everything from being antagonised by Draco Malfoy to the questions that Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Pomfrey had asked the child earlier. Yes, Albus Dumbledore had good reason to hurry.

He reached the Astronomy Tower a moment later. He was climbing the stairs that would take him to the top, and when he reached the top he saw a sight that stopped his heart. Standing there, on the ledge, was Harry Potter. His arms were spread out, his eyes closed. Dumbledore called out the boy's name in horror as he leant back and allowed himself to fall from the tower.

Dumbledore ran to the ledge that Harry had fallen from, pulling out his wand as he reached the wall. He looked down, his hands splayed on the stone, supporting his weight. Harry's body was falling gracefully, his back to the coming ground, his arms still spread out like a Muggle god that had been nailed to two beams of wood.

"_Totustraxit!_ " he called out as he waved his wand at the falling boy, brandishing it like it was a whip. The spell, one that created an invisible lasso with which he could pull in the falling boy, was one that he would typically have cast nonverbally. In his panic, however, he had shouted the incantation.

Dumbledore could feel the lasso shoot out of his spell and could sense it closing in on Harry. The boy had precious little air to fall through; within a second and a half the boy would hit the ground and be lost forever. The lasso came closer, closer still, it was there.

And then something happened that astounded Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to his core: Harry Potter's body shimmered for a moment, before disappearing entirely.

_Embrace fate…_

Harry sped downward, his back to the constantly approaching earth. He opened his eyes mere moments after he'd let himself fall, he looked up to the tower he had just fallen from. He knew the tower was quite tall, more than one hundred metres, he reckoned.

Absently, he wondered why he had let himself fall.

_To embrace death, your fate_ the voice said with malicious joy.

Harry hadn't gone to the tower with the intention of leaping off; he simply had wandered until he found a place to stop. He had only meant to gaze at the stars, but something had told him that it was time. It was time to end things.

It was then, as he was looking up at the tower as he sped to the ground, that he saw the form of Albus Dumbledore. He heard the old man shout an incantation and brandish his wand like a whip at the ground. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_This has always been your fate,_ the voice reminded him. _To die, powerless to stop your own mortality, yes, this has always been your fate._

It was then, perhaps more than at any other instant, that Harry realised that the fall would indeed kill him. He realised fully what that would mean. A distant part of him was saddened that he concluded he didn't care, that it didn't matter.

He could sense the ground coming closer; he would hit it in half a second.

And then something happened. He could feel a sensation not unlike a cool breeze blowing _through_ him. And then, in fourteen shades of grey, the world seemed to disappear before his eyes.

The sight that met his eyes when the grey cleared was one he had not expected. He was hovering in the air, perhaps half a metre above the ground, in a world that was identical to his own. Almost, identical, that is. Every colour in this unusual world was a darker shade than the original, creating a surreal shadow-effect on every surface.

He looked around absently for a moment, the same detachedness that had been constant previously holding true in this world of shadows—and then he felt it.

There was a spark. A very definite spark. It was something he hadn't felt in what seemed like a lifetime. _It can't be,_ the voice that tormented Harry's dreams, and more recently his waking moments, spoke in fear.

A voice, the very envy of angels, shouted in elation and disbelief, _HARRY!_

Ginny Weasley lay on her bed, her eyes glazed over, and an unreadable expression on her face. She had not much moved since the link between she and Harry had been unbearably severed. What was the point? There was no reason to be joyful when what had given her more joy than she had ever known had been taken from her so cruelly.

Her mother had tried to remove her from her stupor, but none of the Weasley matriarch's threats or encouragements had accomplished anything other than frustrate the Weasley mother.

Her father, too, had tried to shake her from her stasis, but to no avail. In her despair, she had heard her father say to her mother the words, "Dementor's Kiss." She neither knew nor cared what that meant. Unless this kiss could bring back Harry, it was completely irrelevant.

She had retreated within herself, taking solace in apathy. Those averse to feeling felt nothing at all—and in Ginny's mind she could hope for nothing better. It was better than feeling the same heart-wrenching pain that had racked her body incessantly since her mental link to Harry had been shattered. It was better than the terrible feeling that her soul had been torn in two and hidden away from her in a place that she would never be able to access.

She wanted so badly to hijack Errol, the Weasley family owl, and send a message to Harry—to tell him that she hadn't abandoned him. Because she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that that was exactly what Harry would see it as. She recognised, in the recesses of her mind, that it could very well destroy Harry to lose her—she was his greatest desire, after all. She disinterestedly noted that she didn't blush at the thought this time.

It was then that she felt it—a spark. It was something she had given up hope of ever feeling again—it was something marvelous, the most wonderful feeling in the world. It seemed a lifetime ago that she last had sensed this—but it was back now.

"HARRY!" she shouted gleefully at the top of her voice.

Molly Weasley sprinted up the stairs to her youngest child and only daughter's room. She had heard the girl's shout—even it, her yelling of a name that bore no significance, came as an incredible relief. She and her husband had been most worried that Ginny had lost the will—if not the ability—to talk. They had agreed the night before that if Ginny wasn't back to normal within three days that they would seek the aid of Albus Dumbledore.

"Ginny, dear?" asked Molly as she ran into the room. Her daughter was sitting ramrod straight, a look of elation on her face. Her eyes were wide with happiness and Molly recognised the watering of the girl's eyes for what it was—tears of euphoria.

Ginny, however, gave no indication of hearing her mother at all. She was staring, eyes wide, at her wall. Her head was tilted back slightly, her long red hair cascading down her nightgown—which she hadn't undonned since her emotionless state had begun.

Ginny's head snapped to look at the toilet seat that the twins and Harry Potter had sent her. It was then that Molly realised who "Harry" was. It was Harry Potter. It _had_ to be. Ginny, after all, knew no other Harry. As far as Molly knew, and she knew quite a lot, her daughter had never even met another person by the name of Harry.

Molly's eyes were fixed on her daughter and she had just opened her mouth to ask about Harry when she saw something that made her gasp in horror.

Her daughter's form was disappearing—fading from view. There was a small burst of light, and Ginny Weasley was gone from her bedroom and tumbling into the Astral, a place that she and Harry alone could ever hope to visit.

"GINNY!"

The powers of a bonded soul are astounding in and of themselves. But the power of the two bonded, the ones featured in this chronicle, are more extraordinary than any before them. It is not uncommon for one bonded to call for its other half in times of extreme need, but this occurs only with the most powerful of bonds. Never before has a soul been called across a Plane, for never before has a bonded soul stepped Beyond. It is, therefore, most extraordinary that the bonded could call his mate from a place that no one else would ever gain access to—a land of souls and spirits, of all things not solid. The soul of the despairing bonded ones called to each other in their most extreme time of need—the destruction of one bonded. The subconscious mind is a fickle beast, but the combined subconscious of the bonded ones sent a message in its moment of desperation. When it was clear that the bonded would be killed by his flight of despondency, his mind reconstructed a very small part of the link broken by the Hogwarts Headmaster. The bond had broken initially because it was weak in its durability.

This is no longer the case. For it has now been tempered in fire; in tears; in souls.

It was unbelievable, it was absolutely impossible, it was so very unlikely—but it had happened. Harry rushed with all of his being toward the sight before him. It was the greatest thing he had ever seen in all of his days, it was the person who made him complete, it was his greatest desire—it was Ginny.

He soared to her, elated. All thoughts of her having severed the bond were the most distant of thoughts. Upon reaching her, he flung out his arms and held her spirit to him—it was the most precious thing in the world.

He could feel his heart reattach itself, feel his soul repairing. He was whole once more; it was the most extraordinary feeling he'd ever experienced.

_I thought I'd lost you forever,_ he sobbed as he clutched Ginny to him.

_Never, never,_ Ginny sobbed right back. They clutched each other so tightly that they never noticed the brilliant flash of gold that surrounded them and expanded throughout their world of shades.

They might not have seen the by-product of their souls strengthening, but they definitely felt it. Everything was right again. Happiness replaced every other emotion—it permeated their very being, making its presence felt universally.

They remained that way for many hours.

A long time later, they were shaken from their peace. Harry could feel a tugging behind his navel. Instinctually, he realised that this meant that their time in this place had ended. He felt the same force being applied to Ginny as well.

_Guess that's our queue, Gin_.

He sensed Ginny's reluctant agreement as he stepped back and shimmered out of her view, reappearing in the physical world. When he solidified, he was standing on the cool earth, just outside the Astronomy Tower. The sky was dark—the moon was obstructed from view by clouds which allowed for only the occasional star to be seen in the gaps.

_Are you still there, Gin?_ Harry asked tentatively. He could feel her in his head, but he wasn't about to go assuming such important things. He had only just gotten her back—losing her again was not something he was in a rush to do twice.

He could feel Ginny smile. _Yes, Harry, I'm still here._

Harry shivered in both happiness and cold. Whatever had happened in… wherever they'd gone had recreated their link. Harry couldn't have been happier, though sitting in front of the roaring fire of Gryffindor Tower certainly had its appeal.

Harry rubbed his arms absently, trying to coax some warmth into his rapidly numbing fingers and arms. He faced east and began walking. Harry roamed the grounds for a few minutes before coming to the same ivy-covered wall that he, Fred, and George had gone through exactly one week before. Harry moved the ivy, revealing the doorway, and seized the weathered handle. "Laever," Harry muttered. He twisted the handle, causing the to door creak open accompanied by the sound of the clicking lock, a flood of warmth and light infiltrating the cold night air around him as the door opened.

He stepped into the hallway, the door disappearing into the wall behind him. Gazing to his right, Harry tried to remember which route would take him to Gryffindor Tower. Shrugging, Harry turned to the left and began ambling to where he hoped this corridor would lead him. The first hall that Harry encountered was long and narrow, the floor covered with a deep scarlet carpet that seemed ominously darker in places.

Ahead of him there was a large oak door with metal crossbars that looked weathered, despite the castle's obvious defence from the elements. Under the door was a golden light thumping rhythmically and eerily.

Harry shivered again, the temperature having nothing to do with his reaction this time. He thought he could hear voices coming from under the doorway, but if they were voices they were spoken in a hasty, hushed tone and were muffled by the heavy door.

Cautiously, Harry crept toward the door, treading lightly on the red carpeting. He squinted his eyes and craned his neck toward the door, trying to negate some of his visual senses in favour of his auditory ones. He inched closer to the door, willing his ears to pick up what the voices were saying. Finally he had reached the door. Placing his ear up against it, he tried to decipher the peoples' words. Straining his ears, he managed to pick up a few disjointed words and phrases.

"…You… never able to… capture… in all… blasted…"

Then a noise sounded out that startled him greatly. He heard a soft clicking—the people inside the room were turning the handle, trying to exit.

_Run, Harry!_

He ran.

Albus Dumbledore sighed deeply and rubbed his palms over his face, trying to expel his fatigue. He had performed a search of the grounds after Harry Potter's disappearance, but had not come up with much. The boy seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Dumbledore had consulted several instruments in his office, trying to ascertain the location of the boy-hero, but to no avail. For eleven years, Albus Dumbledore had carefully monitored the boy's location—since before he was even born. Ever since _that_ night, he had taken every precaution to be sure that the moment the boy's life was in mortal peril or that he was taken from his home, that Dumbledore would know immediately. But his safeguards had failed—the boy was gone.

What was even more disconcerting was that the Headmaster did not even know _how_ the boy had disappeared. He had been falling one moment, but had shimmered out of existence the next.

"A Portkey?" he asked out loud for the fifth time that evening. But he knew it wasn't a Portkey—it would be extremely difficult to create one on the Hogwarts grounds—the ancient wards assured this. To add to it, there was nothing that the boy had hit that could have been turned into a Portkey; the ground itself certainly could not have. The soil at Hogwarts was simply far too magical.

"He certainly did not Apparate." Even though he knew for a fact that none could Apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts without Dumbledore himself collapsing the wards, he had checked. There were no signs of torn wards, no signs that the wards had malfunctioned at all. Indeed, the wards clearly showed that the only time they had been collapsed in six months was when Dumbledore himself had Apparated into the Room of Erised—a room that was now barren and deserted.

Dumbledore racked his brain, trying to discover what had happened to the boy. Although he knew it was an impossibility that Harry would have it, he pulled out a drawer in his office. He looked down at the object that rested inside. Harry certainly didn't have it, so how had the boy disappeared?

The old man sighed once more, checking his sensors again. A large, transparent map appeared before him showing the entire world. Scanning from left to right, Dumbledore searched for his lost charge.

"Not in North America. Nor in South. Asia, no. He is not in Antarctica. Not Africa. He's not in—" Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence. On the large map before him, there was a tiny speck of red light. _This wasn't here last time…_ He prodded the European section with his index finger, causing it to expand. Immediately, the wizened man's eyes traveled to where the dot was located. _Britain_.

Once more, the old man tapped his finger on the map. Britain enlarged, showing all of the country in more detail. "Scotland," said the old wizard aloud. Another tap of the finger and Scotland was enlarged. _He's here! In Hogwarts!_ Dumbledore rummaged in his drawer for another instrument, having collapsed the transparent map, and sat upright again a moment later with a device that strongly resembled a constantly rotating yo-yo.

He tapped it with his wand, a cloud of jet-black smoke arose from it as he did. _Harry Potter,_ the letters were written in white smoke, contrasting off of the black behind it, _Ground floor, far west corridor._ Dumbledore waited but a moment before tapping the object with his wand once more, the smoke returning to its originator. The old man leapt to his feet and traversed his office, the highly-polished door opposite of his desk being his destination. Seizing the handle, the old man stepped onto the spiral staircase and down he went.

Harry ascended several staircases, knowing that he would not find Gryffindor Tower if he stayed on the ground floor. _I think it's a left here, Harry_, Ginny advised. Harry had stopped at a fork in the corridors, one leading left, the other to the right. Harry nodded and set off to the left. He knew, after a half-dozen paces, that Ginny was right to point him in this direction. He recognised the way and it was not long before he had made his way the Gryffindor end of the Four Corners' Passageway.

Harry stood in the room bearing the rug that covered the trapdoor that would take him into the passageway. Gazing at the spot he knew the trapdoor to lay, Harry felt unexplainably drawn to it.

_Let's just go in for a bit,_ said Ginny, her powerful sense of curiosity urging her and Harry to explore for a little while.

Harry smiled at her inquisitiveness as he pulled his wand out of his robes and cast the Movement charm on the rug, revealing the trapdoor that would take him to the Four Corners' Passageway. He knelt down and tugged on the metal handle of the hatch. It didn't budge.

_Fred and George had to use a password, remember?_

Harry cursed softly. _I suppose we'll just have to go off—off—_ Rage rose in Harry unlike he could recall feeling. It was complete, all-consuming, and terrible in its intent. With a snarl, Harry lurched at the door to the room. He flung it open, revealing the weary Hogwarts Headmaster.

"You!" the boy snarled in hatred. _You took my Ginevra from me! You will pay!_ he thought, enraged. Ginny, in rage to equal Harry's, took no note of Harry's phrasing.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. "Harry, you—"

Harry leveled his wand on the Headmaster. A burst of brilliant gold light shot out of his wand, hitting the old man's shoulder. Dumbledore gasped in pain as he looked down at his scorched right shoulder.

"Harry!" the man shouted out in surprise. He had initially expected anger from Harry, but he had feared Harry's retribution upon his waking, not upon the boy's return from some unearthly place. Another beam of light shot out of the wand that Harry grasped, this one hitting Dumbledore square in the chest and sending him back several feet. _It's pure magical energy once more!_

"FIGHT, YOU OLD FOOL!" the boy shouted. Dumbledore shivered in terror. Harry's words mirrored the words of the Dark Lord Voldemort from so many years before.

Dumbledore withdrew his wand from his robes, though he had no intention whatsoever of using it offensively. "I will not fight you."

"YOU WILL! YOU TOOK HER FROM ME—YOU'LL PAY!" vowed the irate boy with an almighty bellow. With an unearthly roar of rage, a violently magenta beam shot from the boy's wand, the crack of a gunshot accompanying it.

Dumbledore raised his wand with lightning quick speed. A large golden shield appeared before him, blocking Harry's scarlet shaft of light.

Harry cast the _Pulsat_ spell at the old man, the spell enormous in diameter. It hit the Headmaster's shield, the same golden one that the old man had had no time to relinquish. The shield buckled under the incredible force of the boy's spell, strengthened by rage and frustration. Dumbledore set his feet, attempting to stay in place and not lose his footing under the force of the boy's spell. Harry's spell forced Dumbledore to concede, however, making him step back in order to remain upright and not topple backward. Finally, Dumbledore's shield won out, Harry's spell being stopped.

"WHO IS TOM RIDDLE?" demanded Harry. "WHY DID YOU THINK I WAS HIM? WHY DID YOU TAKE HER FROM ME?"

Before his reunion with Ginny, Harry had no thoughts of revenge—indeed, he had few thoughts. But now, now that he could feel fully once more, he sought revenge, he sought answers. What was so important that this man would attack him, separate him from his Ginny?

"Harry, please…"

"WHY?" the boy roared. "ANSWER ME!"

"Harry, it was a mistake! I'd thought—"

"A MISTAKE?" bellowed Harry. "YOU TOOK HER FROM ME _ACCIDENTALLY_ ?"

Harry whipped his wand upward, striking Dumbledore's face with a searing jet of air. Dumbledore grunted in pain, beginning to become frustrated at his inability to defend himself against a first year student, however extraordinary the boy.

"HARRY!" the old man bellowed. Harry looked at him disgustedly, his arm still raised, ready to strike the man again. "Be calm! I will tell you what you wish to know."

_Just one more hex, Harry,_ Ginny urged. Harry smiled a feral grin.

_Bates Mocos_, he thought, his wand pointed at the Headmaster's face. The same yellow light that had struck Malfoy on the train to Hogwarts now struck the surprised Headmaster.

"Harry, what—" He no longer had to ask what the spell's effect was. He could feel his mucus changing form. _Bat-Bogey Hex… How did he…._ To Dumbledore's knowledge, the only other people to ever cast a Bat-Bogey Hex had been dead for more than a decade. _Gideon and Fabian Prewett._ It was then that he began to suspect who _she_ was.

"Talk," growled Harry, his wand trained on the Headmaster's heart.

Dumbledore nodded grimly. "That day in my office, Harry, occurred due to a tremendous error on my part." Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, you are capable of feats of magic that others simply are not. Your power is great, your mind brilliant, and your resolve as unbreakable as steel." Dumbledore thought it couldn't hurt to play to the boy's ego a bit. "But your power is too great, perhaps. It is unnatural, unlike anything I've ever seen." The old man sighed once more. "Harry, the power you have and the prowess with which you control your magic is something that I would not expect from even a seventh year student here.

"Granted, your power is uncontrolled. Your range of spells is larger than your classmates, but not enormous. Harry, there is a wizard—a very evil wizard—who has performed possessions before. You were this wizard's downfall, Harry. Ten years ago, when you were but an infant, he came to your home to kill your parents. He turned his wand on you, but his curse rebounded, hitting him. He is widely believed to have died that night. How much of that is merely wishful thinking, however, is difficult to discern. He certainly disappeared, but whether or not he died is a matter that is commonly debated amongst our world's most learned minds.

"It was feared, Harry, that your body had been taken over by this wizard, that he had returned to Britain and possessed you. I myself did not believe it until the day that I confronted you. It seemed so very likely at the time, Harry, you must understand. I had to take action, for if I did not and it proved that you _were_ harboring the soul of Tom Riddle… He would have used you to murder your fellows. That was something that I could not allow."

Dumbledore sighed wearily again and with every word he spoke he seemed to age a year. "I confronted you, Harry, because the interests of the many outweighed the interest of the few."

"Tom Riddle is not the man that killed my parents," said Harry angrily. "Hagrid told me the first time I ever met him—every wizard and witch in this place knows that Lord Voldemort killed my parents!"

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. It was not often that someone dared speak the name of the Dark Lord. It was even more uncommon, nay unheard of, that a first year would do so. "Harry, let me tell you a story about a young boy." Another sigh.

"Long ago, there was a small boy named Tom Riddle. He was a magical boy and displayed a great deal of potential. He was capable of performing magic before he came to Hogwarts, capable of doing so wandlessly, even. Tom Riddle lived in an orphanage in London, his mother having died and his father having denounced him. One day, more than fifty years ago, I came to this London orphanage to give to young Riddle his Hogwarts acceptance letter.

"I arrived at the orphanage and gave to Tom his letter. After a brief bargain with the boy and a small display of magic on my part, Tom agreed to come to Hogwarts. The next school year, Tom was sorted into Slytherin House where he was instantly popular. Although he had many followers, there were none that could claim to be his friend—or rather, there were none whom _he_ would claim to be in friendship with.

"As the years passed, it became clear that Tom Riddle was destined for great things. He was a charming boy, always finding his way out of what ever trouble he could have found himself in. He exemplified Slytherin House in his cunning and silver-tongue. He managed to be in the good graces of nearly every teacher at Hogwarts, for he was handsome, smart, and well-mannered.

"Strange and dark events took place during Tom's time at Hogwarts, but I was the only one who suspected Tom of any treachery. I could feel the boy's darkness, not in the way that you do, Harry, but in another way. I've always had something of a sixth sense when it came to this boy, but that is neither here nor there."

Dumbledore hesitated a moment, wanting to choose his next words carefully. Harry, however, saw this as a refusal to continue. He pointed his wand back at the Headmaster's face, causing the mucus bats to return to the old man's face, Harry having sent them elsewhere so that the Headmaster could speak unimpeded. " _Talk_ ," said Harry forcefully.

Dumbledore clawed at his bogey-covered face, pulling one of the bats from his face and throwing it to the ground. "Reverse the spell, Harry, and I shall continue."

Grudgingly, Harry sent the bogeys elsewhere. "Now."

"Tom Riddle eventually became Head Boy here at Hogwarts. He was the obvious choice for Armando Dippet, the Headmaster at the time, as he was widely loved by the staff and students. As his seventh year drew to a close, he came to Headmaster Dippet, seeking the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The former Defence teacher had retired that year, leaving the post open.

"Dippet rejected the boy, saying that if he were a few years older that he would have taken him on. Dippet quite loved Tom Riddle—he had often referred to him as his 'favourite pupil', so I was quite surprised, though pleased, that he had turned Riddle down. In hindsight, I wonder if perhaps it would have been better to have Riddle teach here at Hogwarts than do what came next."

Dumbledore looked down at the floor, sighing deeply. "Tom Riddle disappeared after he left Hogwarts. He consorted with the worst of our kind, delving so deeply into the Dark Arts that when he resurfaced, there were few that would link polite, handsome Tom Riddle to the creature he became. When he returned to the wizarding world several years after leaving Hogwarts, he sought to take over the position of Defence teacher once more. I was Headmaster at the time of Tom's reapplication, and I rejected him once more. By this time he had amassed some followers—very dangerous ones at that. Old companions from school now followed him, referring to him as 'Master' and 'My Lord'.

"Tom Riddle decided that he required a new name, one that he knew would strike fear into the hearts of all in the decades to come. When he resurfaced, he became Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle having become a name that he would not use, for the connection to his Muggle father was too great.

"In the decades that followed, Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he would have you call him, wreaked havoc on Europe. Ministries of Magic throughout the world were powerless to stop Voldemort and his band of followers. Initially, Voldemort called them the Knights of Walpurgis, but over time they adopted a new name, one that would strike nearly as much fear in the hearts of men as Lord Voldemort himself. They became the Death Eaters.

"I, I must embarrassingly admit, was considered the only one that Voldemort feared. This statement had basis in fact, for Voldemort never once attempted to take Hogwarts, but Lord Voldemort had power far greater than I. I could never perform the feats of magic that this man—nay, this monster—did.

"Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters murdered many great witches and wizards during their reign. Many times they would kill witch of wizard's entire family as a warning to all those who opposed them. Some of the greatest people I ever knew fell victim to Tom Riddle and his followers: The Boneses, their daughter Susan attends Hogwarts, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, names that I'm sure you know already due to your connection to the junior Weasleys to whom Gideon and Fabian were uncles, your parents, and countless others.

"The times then were very, very dark. It was not known whether the darkness would ever end, for times were so very despondent. But there were some who believed that the Light would prevail…"

Dumbledore shook himself. "One night, the thirty-first of October to be exact, Lord Voldemort attacked your parents in person. Your parents had fought Voldemort himself three times, something that few others could claim. Naturally, they were near the top of Voldemort's hit-list. He murdered them that night before turning his wand on you. No one knows how, exactly, it happened, but somehow Voldemort's curse rebounded, vanquishing him."

The old wizard sighed again. "Many thought that the dark times were over, but I knew they were not. Not a month after Voldemort had fallen, two well-respected Aurors, very powerful themselves, were tortured into insanity by Voldemort's followers, desperately trying to get information on his whereabouts." Dumbledore's eyes misted for a moment in deep sadness. "They had no idea where Voldemort was."

Another shake, and Dumbledore continued his tale. "I knew that some of Voldemort's followers were nearly as dangerous as their leader, so I knew that I would have to protect you. I cast an ancient magic at your home. I sent you to live with your aunt, where I knew you would be safe."

"SAFE!" Harry exploded. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'SAFE'?"

Dumbledore looked down. "Harry, I know that you and your family do not always see eye-to-eye, but the alternative was much worse. I had hoped they would be kind to you, that they would treat you as you deserved. I was wrong. But I would not change my decision. It was better to have you unhappy and abused than to have you dead."

Harry exploded with rage. _HE KNEW! HE BLOODY WELL KNEW!_ he shouted to Ginny in fury.

_When I get there next year…_ images of what Ginny was going to do to Dumbledore filled his mind, and he got a sadistic pleasure from seeing the pain that Dumbledore would be experiencing in less than a year.

Dumbledore saw Harry's anger at his statement, so decided to ask him, "What would you have chose, Harry? Death or abuse?"

Harry clenched his jaw and closed his eyes hard. Collecting himself, he looked at Dumbledore's blue eyes and calmly told him. "I've chosen death more times than I can count, Albus Dumbledore."

And with that, Harry turned on his heel and furiously strode out of the room.

_**A/N: God, wasn't that an awful chapter? Well, look, it's done, you've made it; bad news though, the next chapter's just as bad.**_

_**Want to read something good? Something actually worth your while? I suggest 'Rebellion,' my current story, which has also received an update today. 'Rebellion' not your cup of tea? Try 'Phantasmatic.' There's something here for everyone.**_

_**Please review.**_

_**PhoenixAeternum**_


	18. Chapter 18: Illumination & Deception

**Chapter XVIII: Illumination & Deception**

The next morning found Harry sitting in Potions, not even bothering to feign attention to what Snape was on about. Harry had to constantly remind himself _not_ to curse the greasy git where he stood—knowing that the curse Snape had used on him would have caused him to suffocate, had it not been for intervening forces. The forces, or force, rather, were no long unknown, as Ginny had told him that it was she who was responsible for stopping Snape's curse. She told him that she had experienced something similar to when she stepped Beyond (as they had dubbed it), the only thought on her mind being stopping the Potions professor's curse. She didn't know how it had happened, but it had.

_Maybe I should just hex him,_ said Harry wearily, only partly in jest.

_It'd be no less than he deserves, but if you went off cursing teachers and Headmasters, someone is bound to get upset._

_It'd be worth it…_ argued Harry feebly.

Harry felt Ginny give the mental equivalent to a shrug as Harry grudgingly turned his attention to what Snape was lecturing about.

"—and if you added wormwood to it, like Potter undoubtedly will," the pale man sneered, "then you will cause the cauldron to explode. Any _mishaps_ ," Snape took the opportunity to sneer at Harry again, "and you will spend the next seven evenings in detention with me. And as I'm sure that the pleasure would be mutual, do _not_ test my patience."

Snape strode to the other end of the room, his robes billowing before him in a manner that Ginny was sure he had charmed them to, before shouting, "Begin!" at the group of Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

Harry reluctantly reached down to retrieve the ingredients he would need to brew a Swelling Solution from his bag. With a sigh, he rummaged through his bag, searching for a vial in which to place his potion. Unfortunately for him, Snape's patience wore thin.

"Potter!" he shouted. "Are you so arrogant as to not even bring your _supplies_ to class? Above such things, are you?"

Harry's anger was already beginning to rise, but, looking back, he thought that he would not have acted on his anger had it not been for the man's next addition to his initial insult.

"Just like your worthless father, Potter. He and your filthy mother—" That was as far as Severus Snape got before he was staring at the business end of Harry's wand. Snape's face immediately gained a look of utter disgust and loathing, a small tinge of amusement in his tone. "Put away your toy, Potter. Another of your father's tactics, he always was quick on the draw. It's a shame he didn't have quite the speed with the Contraceptive charm—"

Ginny, who had been mentally restraining Harry from blasting the git into oblivion, regardless of how much she wanted to do it herself, now lost her resolve. _Give him hell, Harry._

_IMPRIMIT!_ The spell, one that Ginny had found in her uncles' spell book and had told Harry about over breakfast, caused the Potions professor to be pushed back. Harry had his wand aimed high, however, so instead of just pushing back the man a metre or two, it caused him to fall onto his back with a heavy _thump!_

The class, deadly silent, watched as Snape sprang back to his feet. His own wand was outstretched and trained on Harry. The man's face was fury, his eyes aglow with vehemence. "EVERYBODY OUT!" he shrieked.

The Slytherins, their faces smirking, filed out of the room. Most of them did so willingly, but Draco Malfoy looked reluctant, as if desperately wanting to watch Harry's fate. In the end, he settled for taking his cronies with him and sitting in the very back of class, higher up in the classroom—prime seats. The Gryffindors, however, did not file out quickly and obediently. Several of them, two girls and Neville Longbottom, immediately fled. The remaining students, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas, stared on with the morbid fascination of those watching a fire consume a body.

"Professor," Hermione Granger started, "certainly you should just—"

"OUT, GRANGER! I HAVE NO USE FOR THE INPUT OF A MUGGLE!"

Hermione's eyes misted and her face scrunched up in hurt. Ron emitted a primal snarl.

"Aw, Granger," cackled Malfoy, "I guess Professor Snape doesn't need the help of a _Mudblood_ like you!"

Ron pushed back on his desk, forcing his chair back. He sprang to his feet, his teeth bared, and his face fierce. He began advancing toward Malfoy, stalking his prey. Malfoy's face paled and he grabbed his cronies and pulled them up, forcing them to protect him as he hid behind their massive bodies.

Ron gave a growl and raised his wand at Malfoy, regardless of the fact that he was hidden behind his bodyguards. He shot a glare at the twin boulders, a look that promised violence, causing them to flee from the classroom, their blond master in tow. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan cast a wary glance at their intimidating Potions professor before hurrying from the classroom to evade punishment for not leaving immediately.

Hermione Granger lingered a few moments longer before scurrying off, intending to bring a teacher to Harry's aid. She was shocked that Harry had drawn his wand on a teacher, and then even more shocked when he cast a spell at the teacher, but she felt that under no circumstances should a teacher level his wand on a student.

Harry and Snape, meanwhile, had remained in place, their eyes locked in challenge. Harry, in an act of deepest personal defiance, refused to avert his gaze from Snape's. He refused to so much as blink. _If he so much as twitches… I'm going to curse him_ Harry vowed solemnly to Ginny.

Harry didn't notice the goings-on around him, he didn't know that Ron was in hot pursuit of Draco Malfoy for yet another of the arrogant boy's verbal offences, and he didn't know that Hermione Granger had gone for help. He only knew that this _man_ before him had nearly killed him and that he was going to pay.

"Lower your wand, Potter," snarled Snape, "or I'll send you to Madame Pomfrey in a matchbox."

Harry's eyes glinted in dark humour as he laughed arrogantly at the Potions professor's threat. _You'll never get the chance,_ he thought.

It was then that the professor narrowed his cold, black eyes and glared more intensely into Harry's vivid green ones. Harry thought that he felt a prickle in back of his mind, but did nothing other than narrow his own eyes. _Come on, Snapey, what are you going to do?_

It was then that Harry's mind was assaulted by voices and images.

_A Harry Potter that looked to be several years older than himself was laughing at a young-looking Snape as he dangled him in front of three people donning Gryffindor outfits—they were laughing hysterically._

_A young boy with black hair was being shrieked at by an older man with a clenched fist, he stood over a woman who lay on the ground, unmoving._

_He was walking down a dark hallway, hearing voices coming from behind an old wooden door, a small amount of light flooding under the wooden doorway. A hoarse, gravelly voice was saying "The one with the power to—"_

The next thing Harry knew, Snape was lying on the ground, clutching his head. He sprang to his feet and nonverbally shot a curse at Harry. Harry leapt to the side, barely managing to avoid the navy-blue ray of light. He glanced at his professor as he threw his own curse. _Bates Mocos_!

A yellow beam of light shot from his wand, only just missing his professor. Snape then proceeded to cast another curse at Harry. This one was a deep shade of red and Harry was forced to jump backward—toppling over a desk—to avoid the ray. He landed in a heap on the floor, his robes askew.

"COME ON, POTTER! GET OFF THE GROUND—NOT EVEN YOUR FILTHY PARENTS FOUGHT LYING DOWN! THOUGH PERHAPS YOUR MOTHER SHOULD HAVE!" bellowed the irate professor.

The jab at his parents renewed the spark that had set Harry off in the first place. For the first time, Harry was angry enough to scream an incantation aloud. " _PULSAT!_ he bellowed, his wand aimed at Snape's knee.

Harry and Snape were both very surprised, therefore, when the spell did nothing more than make Snape's knee twitch. Harry stared in shock.

_You should, er, stick to the nonverbals, Harry,_ advised Ginny.

Snape then did something that Harry didn't know him capable of. He laughed. It was a horrible sound—a deep, rumbling laugh that built up, eventually ending in a crescendo of manic laughter. Harry reckoned it would have made a baby cry.

"Potter, your spells are laughable at best!" Snape cackled in sadistic joy as he leveled his own wand at the prone boy.

"We'll see what the Headmaster has to say about this," said Snape as he shot a spell at Harry that rendered him completely immobile.

Or at least, it was supposed to. The spell hit Harry, but it did little more than make him momentarily stiff. The look on Severus Snape's face was one of shock, fury, and begrudging of awe. His eyes widened as he leveled his wand again, taking aim at Harry once again.

" _PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!_ "

Nothing.

Harry smiled as he rose from his position. _I guess I'm immune to that one…_ Harry said to Ginny with great humour. "Well, Snape, it looks like your spells are useless. Anything else?" Despite Harry's confidence, in the back of his mind he was very much confused. Why hadn't the spell affected him in the least?

Snape snarled, "Try this one, Potter. _Verberat!_ " Snape made a slashing motion from left to right as he shouted the incantation. He kept slashing left and right, and Harry kept feeling the effects. Instantly, Harry felt as if he had just been hit by a dozen boulders. The first one hit him in his right shoulder, forcing it backwards. Then another hit him in his left shoulder, forcing a grunt of pain to escape Harry's mouth. Another in the right, then the left, the right, the left, the right. And then, now that Harry was successfully out of breath and gasping for air, his lungs under assault, he was hit right between the eyes.

All became black.

Molly Weasley was walking past her daughter's door as she went on her way to the loo. Ginny had been acting very oddly the last few days. She had been very quiet and sulky, not speaking much at all, during the entire weekend. Molly didn't know what ailed her daughter, but she was relieved when whatever it was evaporated. This morning Ginny had run down the stairs with a smile on her face and a laugh on her lips. The Weasley matriarch had been very relieved—she and her husband had resolved to seek the counsel of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore if she wasn't back to her usual self soon.

She was, therefore, taken aback when she heard the sound of sobbing coming from her daughter's bedroom. Her brow furrowed in concern as she knocked on Ginny's bedroom door.

"Ginny, dear?"

She received a sniffle in response. "Y-yes, Mum?" she asked shakily.

"Can I come in?" Molly settled for the diplomatic approach in favour of simply barging in. Not that she wouldn't do it if Ginny told her not to come in.

"Er—I'm," sniff, "changing, Mum."

Molly scowled as she twisted the knob of her daughter's door and let herself into the young girl's room. What she saw induced unadulterated rage and shock unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her daughter, her ten year old baby girl, was covered in deep, purple bruises on her shoulders—and she seemed to still be getting hit. And then, her head whipped back as she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"…mency, Severus?" asked a powerful voice as Harry regained consciousness.

"Yes, Headmaster. This student invaded my mind!" said an irate voice. "I want him _expelled_ !"

"I will not expel an unconscious eleven year old boy. I know you well enough to realise that you provoked him."

"He saw the beginning of _that_ memory, Albus!" said Snape in vicious desperation.

Harry was about to open his eyes and curse Snape into oblivion when he remembered a passing comment Ginny had made. _You'd be amazed what you can discover when people think you are sleeping._ She had said it just this morning when her mother had been muttering about Bill's latest assignment with Gringotts—searching the tomb of King Tutankhamen.

"He would not understand its significance regardless, Severus. I will not expel a boy who is so very important. I also will not expel someone who cannot speak in his own defence."

There was some unintelligible sputtering on behalf of the angry one. "Headmaster, the boy attacked me in the middle of a lesson! Regardless of provocation, he should be expelled!" Severus Snape managed.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Severus, we can hardly expect the boy to be amicable to us. Your abhorrence of him is already well-known. You _strangled_ the boy, Severus. I'm surprised he waited until the middle of the lesson to strike." The gravity of the old man's voice made his weariness even more pronounced.

"Surely," Snape stressed the word, "there is _no_ excuse for attacking a member of the Hogwarts faculty."

Another sigh resounded from Dumbledore's aged mouth. "Severus, if such was the case, I would have expelled him by now."

There was confused silence for a moment before Severus Snape responded uncertainly, "Whom has he attacked on the staff beside myself?"

Yet another sigh from Dumbledore. "I encountered the boy last night, some time after curfew. I asked him where he had been, and his response was terrifying. He attacked me using spells of enough power to reduce _this_ ," there was some rustling before Dumbledore spoke again, "to ashes.

"His power was… troubling. Any potential prophetic reasons aside, his power is sublime. I can only imagine that it will grow exponentially before he leaves here. I would not be surprised at all if Harry is to one day, and that day may not be far off, trump even me in power. At eleven years old, he has more magical power than many adult wizards. His display of Occlumency, his newfound Legilimency, if what you tell me is accurate, and his nonverbal spells display this plainly enough."

There was momentary silence before Dumbledore started up again. "Harry, after doing _this_ to me, held me at wandpoint and demanded that I tell him about some of the things I had said during our confrontation in my office. He asked me about Tom Riddle, I told him what I could.

"I told him that Voldemort came to his parents' house to kill them, not him. I made no mention of the prophecy, or of its contents. It would be a horrible crime to tell Harry what it said when he is so very young. That is a burden I do not wish to place on him until he is ready—mentally, more so perhaps than magically."

"You do intend to tell him, Headmaster?"

"Yes. He needs to know. It is in the area of the prophecy, perhaps solely, that I am glad Harry has displayed the power that he has.

"What is greatly distressing concerning Harry's unusual talent… he's shown more potential than Tom Riddle ever did. Perhaps history could repeat itself? Tom and Harry both came from unloving homes, both are half-bloods, both have excellent grasps of magic… The coincidences are too numerous to overlook. If Harry were to become the next Dark Lord…"

"He has the rage," commented Snape dully.

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore worriedly. "Yes, he does."

Harry felt gentle, but stern hands grab him by the shoulders and flip him over. It was then that Harry realised he had been lying face down on the floor. He guessed he was in the Headmaster's office, but without visual confirmation he had no way of knowing for sure. The same firm, gentle grasp lifted him from the floor and placed him on a hard and flat wooden surface that Harry assumed was a desk.

It was then that Dumbledore gave a rather mirthless chuckle. "Did you have to use the _Verberat_ spell with quite so much efficiency, Severus? Surely you could have merely put the Petrification charm on him, or perhaps a Stunning spell?"

Snape made an irritated noise with his throat. "No, Headmaster, he appears to be completely immune to the Petrification charm. I cast it on him while we were fighting—it hit him, but there was no effect whatsoever. He mocked me, so I bypassed the Stunning spell and went straight to the Multiple Striking Charm. It was most effective."

"Yes, I imagine it was." Gnarled hands began to peel away Harry's robes when the same hands applied a bit too much pressure to his now bruise-covered chest. Harry gasped aloud, surprised at the pain that seemed so dull.

"Welcome back to us, Harry," said Dumbledore in a genial way, though his eyes betrayed his concern. Whether it was concern for Harry's health or because he was worried that he had started Harry down the road of Tom Riddle, Harry didn't know.

_Should I hex them both, Gin?_ he asked. There was no response. Harry's brow furrowed. Upon closer examination, Ginny appeared to be sleeping. But it was an unusual sleep. It was then that things began to click in his mind. _Gin! Ginny! Ginevra!_ he said loudly, trying to rouse her. Despite his efforts, he failed to awake her.

Feeling particularly distressed, Harry did not notice that Dumbledore was calling his name until the old man's sixth attempt. "HARRY!" a voice bellowed, gaining his attention in a rather abrupt manner.

"What?" he asked, trying not to shout too loudly. He hopped off of the desk, grimacing as he landed; the sensation of his chest moving too much was an unpleasant one, he had decided. Harry took an open seat a few feet from his Potions professor, knowing that it would be futile to attempt to leave the Headmaster's office. Besides, he wanted some answers.

Dumbledore peered over directly over his half-moon spectacles into Harry's eyes. The Headmaster had opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Harry.

"Stop that," Harry demanded. "I don't want you looking at what I'm thinking."

Dumbledore's face registered surprise. "What do you know of that, Harry?"

Harry was getting irritated. "I know that I did it accidentally to Ron, and I know that I did it to Snape. I think you two both do it to me, and probably the other students too," he said, annoyed.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly. "You've done this before, Harry?"

Now Harry was _really_ starting to get irritated. "Yes!"

Dumbledore frowned, "Harry, you mustn't use this against other people. It is an intrusion of the person's privacy and—"

"What do you mean 'an intrusion of privacy'?" Harry snorted. "You do it to me. Isn't _that_ an intrusion of privacy?"

A sigh escaped Albus Dumbledore's lips. "Harry, I must employ certain… underhand techniques in order to assure the safety of this school."

Another snort was then emitted from Harry. "Right. Security. What's his excuse, then?" he asked as he jabbed his thumb at the unusually silent Professor Severus Snape.

Snape, who had been frowning during Harry and Dumbledore's exchange, was now openly scowling with his arms crossed on his chest. "What I do is none of your business, Potter. Just like your father, always sticking your nose where it doesn't—"

"That's enough, Severus," said Dumbledore sternly.

"Harry," he said, looking at him once more, "why did you attack Professor Snape?"

Harry glared at him. "Other than the obvious reasons?"

"Obvious reasons, Harry?"

"Yes, obvious reasons!" Harry said indignantly. "Like the fact that he's a greasy git!"

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his middle finger and thumb. "Have you any _other_ reason, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's go through it then, shall we? He started yelling at me because I didn't get my supplies out fast enough. He then called me arrogant, saying that I believed myself to be 'above such things.'

"Then he makes a comment about my father, calling him worthless. Then he described my mum as 'filthy'. That's when I pointed my wand at him."

Dumbledore cast a disapproving look toward Snape, but didn't verbally reprimand him. "Continue, Harry."

"He said that my dad was fast on the draw too. He said that it was a shame he wasn't as quick with Contraceptive charms. I may not be old, but I now exactly what a contraceptive is. That's when I hexed him. The _Imprimit_ charm. I doubt you know it."

Dumbledore nodded. He indeed did not know of any _Imprimit_ charm. "Where did you learn this spell, Harry?"

Harry looked to the left for a moment, thinking of a plausible lie. "I found it in an old spellbook," he said simply. It was partially the truth. _He_ hadn't found it, but the person who had did indeed find it in an old spellbook.

Dumbledore gave Harry a slight nod, he took it as an indication to continue on with his account. "Snape fell pretty hard—" Harry was cut off by Professor Dumbledore.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry."

Harry just glared at him. "Well this _professor_ fell back and then sprang up to his feet again. He yelled for everyone to get out. I don't know who was left, but there were a few. Hermione Granger said something to him, I don't know what. But _Professor_ Snape said something about not needing the advice of 'a Muggle.' Quite professional, wouldn't you say?" asked Harry sarcastically.

The Headmaster sent an even more disapproving look to Snape, but there was still no verbal telling-off. Harry hoped that he was saving it for when the two were alone and away from student ears.

"He said something about sending me to the Hospital Wing in a matchbox. The next thing I knew, I was looking at memories or thoughts. There was my dad cursing him, three people laughing. A man with his fist raised, a woman on the ground. Then there was _him_ creeping toward a door with a light on inside. There were voices, but I don't remember what they said. I think the words 'power' and 'one' were both said."

Harry looked directly into Dumbledore's azure eyes, communicating to the man that he knew something that he shouldn't. "Snape," Harry said defiantly and with emphasis, "was on the ground when I broke out of it, he was holding his head and rolling on the ground. He got up and shot a curse at me. Then I shot one back, he returned one. I fell behind a desk avoiding the spell when he made another comment about my parents. He said that not even they fought lying down, that maybe my mum should've."

Dumbledore cast a supremely disapproving look at Snape, one that clearly communicated that the two would have words later.

"I shot another spell at him, but I shouted the incantation this time. It was the punching spell. It didn't do anything. Next time I won't say anything—then you'll be in the Hospital Wing for a week, immobile," Harry said, directing the last sentence at Snape.

"Harry, you will not threaten a teacher," said Dumbledore with a stern look. Harry had difficulty refraining from rolling his eyes.

"He shot a Petrifying spell at me. It hit me, but nothing happened. That's when he did the other spell. The one that left me like this." Harry indicated to his chest, which was mostly uncovered and covered in black and blue marks. "It hit me probably half a dozen times before I got hit in the face. That's when I passed—passed out…"

Suddenly everything made sense. Ginny wasn't sleeping—she was unconscious! Somehow, Snape's spell affected both him and Ginny. With fire in his eyes, Harry turned toward Snape. He raised his wand.

"You can do whatever you want to me, Snape, but if you ever hurt mine again…" Harry left the threat hanging. He didn't realise that, for the second time in two days, he had referred to Ginny in the possessive tense.

"You little…" Snape was cut off by Dumbledore's commanding tenor.

"Enough!" the man said loudly.

"Harry, what do you mean about Professor Snape's having hurt 'yours'?" asked Dumbledore, restoring order.

Harry did not answer, but merely glared at Snape. Outwardly, he appeared to be consumed by his anger. Inwardly, however, he was really trying to rouse Ginny from her unconscious state. _Ginny, I need you to wake up. Come on, Gin. Come back to me, Ginevra._ It was but a moment later that she awoke.

She groaned as she returned to consciousness. _Harry?_ she asked in disorientation.

_Are you okay, Gin?_ he asked concernedly.

_No worse than you, Harry. Why was I affected, though? I wasn't hit by Snape's curse, only you were._

_I don't know, Gin. __Maybe spells affect both of us?_ he offered feebly. He truly had no idea why the spell would affect the both of them. It was at that moment that Harry resolved to be less reckless in his endeavors; he didn't mind much if he was hurt—he'd grown up with it. It was something different entirely, however, to have Ginny hurt.

Wanting to leave Dumbledore's office, Harry asked a question that would surely get him excused. "Professor," he said, facing the Headmaster, "what is your mind-reading called?"

Harry was, therefore, surprised when Headmaster Dumbledore simply looked him in the eye. "It is called Legilimency, Harry. You mustn't use it. It is considered by some to be a Dark Art. It is a very obscure branch of magic, and I should be quite surprised if you ever run across another who knows of it. Due to its rarity and obscurity, you will find no volumes on the subject, so I will ask you to save yourself the trouble of looking."

Harry was about to open his mouth, another attempt to be dismissed from the office on his lips, when Dumbledore's fire-place roared to life with green flames.

"Professor Dumbledore!" shouted a familiar voice from a familiar _head_ that had appeared in the office fireplace.

Dumbledore quickly rose from his desk, obviously in some state of concern, and crossed to the fireplace.

It was as Dumbledore crouched down to respond to the fiery cranium that Ginny exclaimed to Harry to whom the head belonged. _That's Mum!_ she said in great surprise. _She's gone to Dumbledore?_ asked Ginny confusedly.

_Why would she come to Dumbledore?_ asked Harry.

He immediately sensed embarrassment and discomfort that were not his own. _She… er… saw what Snape's spell did. She must have gone down to the floo while I was unconscious…_

_Floo?_ asked Harry. Was she ill, perhaps?

He felt a chuckle come from Ginny. _No, Harry, not the flu. It's the floo. The Floo Network, it's made up of hundreds of wizarding fireplaces that are all connected. You can talk through it, even travel through it. You feel this really awful sensation when you do it, though._

"Molly?" Dumbledore's voice interrupted Harry and Ginny's thoughts. "What's happened?" Harry didn't understand why Dumbledore's voice sounded so urgent, obviously there was need for urgency—Ginny was hurt—but Dumbledore couldn't know that.

_Someone would only ever floo Dumbledore if it was an emergency. There are too many locks on his floo to just drop in regularly,_ explained Ginny.

_Locks?_ Harry wish he knew these things.

_Yes, locks. Important people and places will have a lock on their floo, so not just anyone could get through. Bill told me that it's usually a password of some kind. I don't know how Mum would know Dumbledore's, though…_

"It's my baby girl, Albus. She was attacked by someone—I don't know who! I heard her crying so I went into her room. She was covered—" The ranting Weasley matriarch was cut off by the sound of Albus Dumbledore's voice.

"Professor Snape, Mr. Potter" he said, "please leave us."

Snape nodded, though his dissatisfaction was obvious. Harry, however, opened his mouth to retort. The mental equivalent to a jab in the side stopped him however. Harry took the message as it was meant. He nodded and stood up. He turned on his heel and strode from the office, his Potions professor in tow.

Harry descended the spiral staircase, the sneering man behind him. Snape may have made some snide remarks, but if he did, Harry didn't hear him.

_I think Dumbledore's about to find out about… us,_ stated Ginny in grim resignation.

With a sigh, Harry gave a mental nod. As much as Harry hated the Headmaster for what he'd done to he and Ginny, he realised that the man was very, very wise. _Would he even know what it is? I don't think…_ this _ is all that common,_ asked Harry hopefully.

_If we were dealing with _ anyone _else, I don't think they'd have any idea. But… this _ is _ Dumbledore we're talking about… I don't think there's much he doesn't know about_. Her tone of voice clearly displayed her disheartenment that another would know of their bond. And worse yet, the person who was about to find out was someone who was not altogether accommodating to their cause.

Harry ambled through the halls, eventually stopping outside of the door to a classroom that he knew to be deserted. He turned the handle and stepped into the dark, single-windowed classroom. There were a number of desks pushed as far back as the wall would allow on the right side of the room, so Harry walked over and took a seat.

With a sigh, he put his head in his hands. _I don't… I don't _ want _ anyone to know. It's not that I'm, you know, ashamed of you or anything it's just…_ Harry sighed, unable to find the words to express his thoughts.

_I know what you mean, Harry. It's… it's private. It doesn't have anything to do with anyone else. I don't want to tell anyone either._

Harry gave a nod of relief, glad that Ginny had understood him. He lay his head down on the cool wooden surface of the desk. The physical, mental, and emotional stress of the last two hours finally catching up with him. He exhaled deeply and let himself fall asleep.

He did not know that, several floors above him, an old man sat in his chair, scratching his beard and pondering the events of the day. That same old man never noticed a shadow pass through the wall that he faced, fading into the stonework.

**_A/N: For those of you wishing to read more of my work, an update has also been posted to 'Rebellion' today. _**

**_Thanks for reading; please review._**


	19. Chapter 19: Not Dark Yet

**Chapter XIX: Not Dark Yet **

A week later, Harry could be found sitting in the Great Hall, eating a sausage and making an admirable attempt at holding up conversation with Ginny, Ron, and the twins. It was a skill he had been forced to perfect over the last week, as he had been spending a great deal of time with Ron or the twins, and often both, with Ginny's constant commentary accompanying.

After the initial explanation process, in which Harry, aided by Ginny, had managed to convince Ron and his brothers that the cause of his semi-catatonic state was due to illness and that he had managed to talk his way out of punishment for the Snape incident, Harry had started spending more time with Ron. He was a loyal friend, after all, and had fought against Malfoy's goons during that day after Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Much of the school was still buzzing about Harry and Snape's confrontation, but as no one had seen the whole thing, most of the rumours were completely outlandish and absurd. The rumours had begun to die down by the beginning of the weekend, though Harry often received looks of awe and admiration in the halls. He supposed he was probably the only student who had ever outright done what the other students craved.

Harry and the twins had had several late-night magic sessions, and Fred and George had made some progress with their silent spell casting. They had managed to perform some small spells to even smaller effect—their _Lumos_ produced a very dull light and their Levitation charms caused their brows to sweat in concentration and effort and could still only lift the smallest of objects.

Harry had been cornered by several students who wanted to learn how to cast spells silently; he had been worried that the students would ask questions about _how_ and _why_ he was capable of nonverbal spells, but apparently this was no less than they had expected from the Boy Who Lived. He had grown to hate his title and the stigma that accompanied it. He didn't appreciate people badgering him about how he 'defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. When he would tell them that he had no idea—that he'd been a baby and couldn't remember—they would gaze at him in dissatisfaction and walk away.

Ron was one of the few who only asked for nonverbal casting lessons once. He had asked, but Harry had told him that the best he could do would be to put a Silencing charm on Ron, that he didn't really know how to _teach_ the technique. That had been enough for Ron, who then tried putting a Silencing charm on himself. He had accomplished it, partially, and was dismayed to find that he was not able to reverse it. Consequently, he had walked around the Gryffindor common room bellowing, only to be heard as a whisper. Harry had eventually taken pity on the red-haired boy and reversed the charm. Ron's ears had gone red and he got an annoyed look on his face. It was later that Ginny mentioned that Ron was probably angry that someone had to do it for him—it also didn't help that Harry had canceled the spell nonverbally.

Hermione Granger, however, had been quite the opposite of Ron. She had badgered Harry over and over for tips on nonverbal spells—an art she was determined to learn. Harry figured it was as much out of competitive spirit as the genuine desire to master the skill. Harry didn't pretend to know Hermione that well, but he recognised that she wanted to be the best in every subject, and he presumed that it bothered her that someone excelled in an area in which she was less than proficient. Harry had given her the same advice he'd given every who'd asked—he'd told her to perform a Silencing charm on herself and try saying the incantations normally. She apparently hadn't had much luck, because she sought Harry between classes in the corridors, during downtime in the Gryffindor common room, and during meals in the Great Hall. Much to her oft vocalised dismay, she was unable to master the skill any farther than Ron had, which is to say not at all. Harry admired her persistence, however, because she could still be found in a corner of the common room vainly trying to perform the simplest of spells nonverbally.

In fact, the phenomenon had spread so far as to have Professor Flitwick address it in his Wednesday afternoon lesson. He had informed the class, in his high-pitched, squeaky voice, that nonverbal casting was one of the most difficult branches of magic taught at Hogwarts and that he had never known a first year, other than Harry, of course, to be able to perform it. He had gone on to say, much to Hermione's delight, that he would be willing to teach a special class every Friday afternoon, from the last bell until dinner. A list now hung on his wall listing the thirty-two first year students who had signed up to learn nonverbal casting.

Harry, who obviously didn't need the lessons, did not attend. He had heard from Seamus and Dean, both of whom _had_ taken Flitwick's class, that Ron had been so frustrated with his lack of casting ability that he had stormed out of the classroom and walked headfirst into a portrait of a squat woman wearing a revolting pink bonnet. The portrait had, reportedly, begun to flirt openly with Ron, having taken his collision as a show of interest, before the boy had managed to sprint away in terror.

When Harry had asked his fellow Gryffindors what advice Flitwick had given, they had responded that Flitwick's advice had not been very far removed from Harry's, with the exception that Professor Flitwick had showed them a calming exercise that was supposed to help them perform the nonverbal spells. From what the two Gryffindors had said of Ron, Harry and Ginny agreed that the calming exercise hadn't been completely effective.

Unfortunately for Harry, the end of his tutoring problem had given way to another, significantly larger problem. Ever since that day in Dumbledore's office with Snape, the Headmaster had been shooting him anxious looks during mealtimes. Finally, Dumbledore had asked Harry to his office so that the two might discuss 'matters'.

The Headmaster had sat behind his desk and calmly asked Harry why he had not been present at his last Potions lesson. Harry recognised that if any student other than himself had missed a class, they most certainly would not be conferring with the Headmaster about it. In calm equal to Dumbledore's, Harry had explained that he did not think it wise to return to the man's class when he was so obviously determined to insult his parents. Dumbledore's eyes had flashed with something that Harry did not recognise before he responded to Harry's statement in a tone of disappointment and disapproval. He had made his views quite clear: Harry was not to miss any more of _Professor_ (he had emphasised this word) Snape's lessons, or he would be given detention and would be marked down by _Professor_ Snape. Harry had only just managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, but nodded. Dumbledore had looked at him concernedly for a moment before dismissing him.

Another oddity of the week was the way the Weasley twins had been looking at him lately. Sometimes they had looks of awe on their faces as they gazed at him, and other times they looked anxious or guilty. Harry didn't know what it was about, but as they'd known about his nonverbal ability longer than anyone else—other than Ginny—he didn't think that that was the cause of their newfound expressions when looking at him. They hadn't been more distant lately, they just always seemed on the verge of saying something, but then changing their minds at the very last moment. Ginny and Harry both found it equally disconcerting; Harry because he had never seen the twins like this; and Ginny because she _had_ seen the twins like this, and it usually meant something big was happening. They had eventually given up brainstorming about the source of their new expressions, however, and after a few days they died down slightly, though Harry could still feel their eyes on the back of his head whenever he entered a room.

Perhaps the oddest event that had occurred during the week, however, had happened on Thursday. It was before lunch, and Harry was sitting in Professor McGonagall's class. He had debated not attending, but had reasoned that if he missed two classes in one week, he might be thrown out of school. He had not looked at McGonagall during the entire lesson and had worked in the back of the classroom quietly. He was quite surprised when Professor McGonagall had come up to his desk while everyone else was working on turning their matches into needles. A light tap on the shoulder heralded her arrival, causing Harry to reach for his wand instinctively. McGonagall had explained in a very apologetic tone that the spell she had used would not have hurt him at all, but would have rendered him unconscious. Harry glanced at her warily, realising that this woman had shot a spell at him, before nodded his acceptance of her story. McGonagall had then done something that he didn't know her capable of: She had quietly asked Harry to forgive her for attacking her, mentioning that she was appalled when she thought that she'd attacked a student. Harry had sized her up momentarily before Ginny gave the suggestion that would eventually create their shaky truce. Cautiously, Harry told McGonagall that he would forgive her if she would teach him the spell she had intended to use on him. Harry watched as a range of emotions from disapproval to worry flashed across her face before she nodded, her desire for a clean conscience winning out over her reluctance to bolster a powerful student's arsenal.

Harry had arranged it with McGonagall for him to be given special lessons on Wednesday and Friday nights after dinner, until curfew until he felt he had grasped the spell sufficiently, or he conceded inability. He was to have his first in two day's time from the present, as McGonagall had wanted to wait until the following week to start his instruction. She had not said it, but Harry and Ginny had received the distinct impression that she wanted to consult Dumbledore before doing anything. They weren't sure how they felt about this, as Dumbledore was not particularly accommodating to Harry's ways. Apparently he had given the go-ahead, however, for McGonagall had mentioned to Harry during dinner on Saturday night that she would give him his first lesson on the following Wednesday.

The week, Harry thought, had gone a fair deal better than his last. He and Ginny had both made several visits to the Otherside, staying longer and longer each time they went. They found that they went most at night—they had reasoned, however, that the time of day probably had little to do with their traversing of planes, and had more to do with what they were thinking about. A preliminary experiment had showed that they went when their minds were most relaxed and focused on the other.

During the week, Ginny had been paid a visit by the esteemed Headmaster. She and Harry had expected it, but had dreaded the eventually event all the same. Headmaster Dumbledore asked her a number of questions related to her physical condition. He had asked if someone had cursed her, Ginny had merely glared. Her mother had just begun to reprimand her when Dumbledore calmly asked her to leave, stating that Ginny was more likely to open up without her mother's input. Molly had huffed and puffed, but she had left before the Burrow was blown down. Dumbledore then turned to Ginny and gazed into her eyes, they recognised that he was trying to read her mind, but Ginny jutted her jaw out and glared into Dumbledore's azure gaze in defiance. Dumbledore had then asked her questions about things that she oughtn't have known, and she had replied in feigned confusion. He had asked what had happened when she had shimmered, but she merely looked blankly at Dumbledore and told him that she didn't remember. Neither she nor Harry were feeling very forthcoming to Dumbledore, and definitely about a topic as close to the heart as Harry and her sanctuary, as they had come to think of it. A short while later, Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh and departed from the Weasley home. Molly Weasley, Ginny's mother, had been clucking about the house ever since, muttering darkly to herself.

A surprisingly small amount of exploration had occurred on the Otherside, as Harry and Ginny usually spent their time sitting down and talking to each other, glad for the opportunity to see their constant correspondent. At first they had thought it good fortune that neither had been caught disappearing from their world, but when Harry had returned to his body to see Ron looking down at him in an unsurprised manner, they had discovered that their physical bodies now remained where they had been before they departed to the Otherside.

The second time they had arrived Beyond, they had questioned the existence of their realm, but when neither could provide any answers, they gave up trying to decide how or why it existed and simply reveled in the time they were allowed there.

It was just before breakfast was to end, one week after the reconstruction of the bond and two days before Harry's first extra lesson with Professor McGonagall, that Draco Malfoy made his first real appearance since he'd been pranked into oblivion by the Weasleys. Harry had heard all about the prank, even going so far as to demand that the twins teach him the spell they'd used.

Draco Malfoy had been walking by with his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, when he stopped at the end of the Gryffindor table. He scrunched up his nose, appearing as if he smelled dung. He looked disgusted down to the right at—surprise, surprise—Hermione Granger.

"Merlin, Granger, if you've _got_ to be a Mudblood, you might be less obvious about it!"

Harry, who had been sitting a few people down and to the left of Hermione, looked up from his plate, ignoring Ron's ranting about the very same Hermione Granger, and growled at Malfoy. "Leave her alone, Draco." This was something that Harry had learned from Dumbledore—during Harry's visits to the Headmaster's office, the man had been at his most dangerous just after he'd called Harry by his first name. It also served to irritate the one being named that someone that was considered to be neither friend nor ally would call him by his first name. Draco Malfoy's head shot at Harry, apparently feeling similar dislike to Harry's use of his name as Harry's to Dumbledore.

Malfoy seemed to have regained his courage since their last meeting. "It's none of your business what I do, Potter. I won't have a half-blood ordering me around!"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. In the last week, Ginny had told him more about the wizarding hierarchy as it pertained to blood. He found the whole situation to be moderately reminiscent of the Nazis ways during World War II. He didn't pretend to know much about it, but it was something that was known and understood amongst his age group at his old Muggle school.

"Go sit down, Draco," Harry said with calm. He still had not risen, not wanting to spark an actual conflict. He had held to his resolution to get into fewer brawls, none of if he could manage it, due to the last one's effect on Ginny.

"Sod off, Potter!" said Malfoy angrily. "I'm perfectly allowed to tell this Mudblood—"

"Find a new name for her, Draco, or don't speak to her at all." Harry could feel that Ron was looking at him confusedly, apparently not understanding what was going on. It took a moment, but Ron made the connection between Draco Malfoy and the word Mudblood after a moment. He looked ready to curse the blonde boy.

Malfoy came over to where Harry was sitting and glared at him. Alone, he would not have been very intimidating. Harry was not tall, in fact he was quite small for his age, but Draco Malfoy was not much larger. Draco Malfoy's cronies made up for any lack of physical size, however, as they were not unlike boulders.

"You've no authority over me, Potter. The Old Laws state that I have the right to speak as I please to any of blood less noble than my own."

"Your pompous rules mean little here, Draco," said Harry with a flourish of his arms to his fellow Gryffindors. He was working hard to keep his face emotionless, not wanting to incite attack.

"And by the Old Laws, I am within my rights to challenge you to a duel. You have insulted my honour, Potter, and you will pay for it." Malfoy jutted his nose higher in the air as he spoke. He looked down at Harry in disgust. "Midnight, the trophy room, be there." Malfoy spared a glance at Ron. "The blood-traitor—is he your second?"

"I am," said Ron, rising. He seemed to be ignoring the jab at the state of his blood for the moment.

Harry wasn't entirely certain what Malfoy was blathering on about, but Ron seemed to have a fair idea. _A second would take over for you if you were to die in the duel, Harry_. Ginny seemed to have an excellent idea of what was happening. _But that only ever happens in real duels—the most a first year can do to you is shoot sparks and a few low-level spells at you. Nothing lethal._

Harry gazed into Malfoy's pale eyes for a moment before making a decision. "I won't fight you, Draco," his voice was soft, laced with an underlying danger.

"You have no place calling me that name!" said Malfoy, his irritation rising. "No son of a Mudblood whore—"

"Who's your second?"

"—What?" asked Malfoy confusedly.

"Who is your second?" Harry asked again, his pace slower this time. Malfoy was going to get it. His words, while more than likely something he had just said to rile Harry up, struck a chord deep inside. The Dursleys had such much the same thing, there terminology for his mother being mildly different—freak instead of Mudblood.

Malfoy grinned slightly. It was an ugly thing to see; something like a smirk and a grimace, laced with venom and ill-inspired arrogance "Crabbe."

The boulder known as Crabbe looked confusedly at his master for a moment before grinning stupidly and cracking his knuckles in a fashion that Harry was certain was intended to frighten, but was more comical than menacing.

Malfoy's grin faded as his features became mousy and boyish once again. "Trophy room." He left.

"Git doesn't learn, does he?" asked Ron with a laugh.

_He's nervous,_ Ginny said immediately. Harry sensed it too, there was a slight waver in his expression of amusement.

_I don't know why—I've never had to worry about Malfoy before._ It was then that it made sense to Harry. _He's got a trick up his sleeve. He knows something new, something that turns the tables._

"Don't worry, Ron, there's nothing Malfoy can come up with that I can't beat." Harry's outward confidence was belied by a spark of internal fear. It wasn't large, but he did have to take into account the blond boy's newfound confidence—something that unsettled him slightly.

Ginny, too, seemed to have just realised something. _He probably knows more spells than we do, Harry. I heard Dad say once that some of the richer pureblood families sometimes have their children tutored before they go to Hogwarts. That could be what happened with Malfoy—and I wouldn't put it past his dad to teach him Dark Arts._ Ginny's voice was laced with concern, apparently beginning to think more of the Slytherin boy's casting abilities.

_If he knew all of that, I wouldn't have been able to beat him so easily. If he knew Dark Arts spells, he would have used them against me by now, wouldn't he?_ Harry was trying to convince himself as much as Ginny. The prospect of Malfoy now using lethal spells was not a happy one. _What could he know now that he didn't know last week?_

He felt Ginny's hopeless shrug. _Well, I guess we'll just have to look through your uncles' spellbook some more. We haven't really read it cover to cover, there're probably other spells in there that we could use against Malfoy._

Ginny's agreement made itself known by a spark of determination coursing through their bond. _Ask Fred and George for some new spells, too. But don't let them use them on you—if Malfoy's got something up his sleeve, you don't want to be hurt._

"Fred, George!" Harry called. The two redheads had left sometime before Malfoy had appeared. They had muttered something about Lee Jordan and a giant centipede before taking off to the far right end of the Gryffindor table, whispering hurriedly with Lee. Upon being called by Harry, their heads shot up.

"Oy?" shouted one of them.

Harry made a jerking movement with his head, signaling for them to come to him. The twins stole a last glance at something Lee Jordan was holding in his lap before coming over to Harry and Ron's side of the table.

"Malfoy's been here," Harry said in way of explanation. The twins' faces gained an uncharacteristically ugly expression at the sound of the blond Slytherin's name.

"And what did he want?" asked Fred.

"A duel."

The twins looked at each other for a moment, their expressions incredulous. Then, surprising Harry and Ron, they burst out laughing. They were supporting one another by keeping their hands on the other's shoulders. "H-he actually _wants_ to duel you?" asked Fred in between gales of laughter.

"He wants to _duel_ the Boy Who Lived? What, does he think You-Know-Who was some sort of taster next to the great and almighty Draco Malfoy?"

"He knows something new," Harry said solemnly, silencing the twins' euphoric cackles. "He's not thick enough to just up and decide to challenge me to a duel when I've beaten him all the other times—I think he knows something new that will turn the tide."

The twins still looked as if they thought Draco Malfoy wouldn't be a problem, but there was a glimmer in their eyes of something akin to concern. "He probably knows some dangerous spells…" trailed off George.

"I wouldn't put it past his dear old dad to've had him tutored in the Dark Arts since he was old enough to hold a wand," agreed Fred with a dark nod.

"If he knew spells like that, you know, Dark spells, then why hasn't he used them on Harry before?" asked Ron, making his presence known.

The twins shared a dark look. "He might have learned something new—something from a Dark Arts book that his dad might've sent him. Or maybe he's just recently perfected one of the spells. Hell, maybe he didn't want everyone to know he could do the spell. He is a Slytherin, after all."

The other twin, the one that hadn't been speaking, George, asked, "When is the duel? And where?"

"Midnight, in the trophy room," responded Ron.

The twins nodded in grim admiration of the blond boy's choice of battlefield. "A good place for a duel. It's always unlocked and Filch rarely patrols there."

There was silence for a moment as the four reflected on what would happen at midnight, with an arrogant and armed Draco Malfoy facing off against the boy who had felled Lord Voldemort, a boy who had reason to hurt the self-proclaimed Slytherin prince. "I want you to teach me some shield spells," Harry said simply.

The twins nodded. "We figured you would."

"Ron too."

The twins looked confused at that, causing Ron to puff up with a bit in anger. "What? You don't have any problem teaching Harry—but if _I_ , your _brother_ , want to learn something, you two are completely against it!"

"Mum would blow her lid if we taught you dueling spells, Ron," said Fred, glaring at his brother in a 'we've been over this before' fashion.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, cutting off an angry retort from Ron, "He's my second, he needs to know too."

With that statement, the twins _really_ looked alarmed. "Second?" asked Fred. "You both have seconds?"

Ron nodded. "I'm Harry's and Crabbe is Malfoy's." Ron shrugged. "Malfoy's probably just trying to scare Harry into backing out—neither of them know strong enough spells to actually _kill_ one another."

The twins looked at each other warily. "The whole duel could be a bluff," suggested George to his twin, a tint of hope in his voice.

"He wasn't bluffing!" insisted a voice belonging to someone whose presence none of them had yet registered. "He spoke of the Old Laws!" Hermione Granger stood there with her hands on her hips. She glared at Harry. "You can't go off fighting—"

"The Old Laws?" asked Fred, ignoring the ranting girl. He looked worriedly at his twin. "I don't think he's bluffing."

_What does it matter if he talked about Old Laws? What are they?_ asked Harry of Ginny.

_They're not just old laws, Harry, they're _the _Old Laws. I don't know that much about them, my family's never really followed them, all I know is a little bit of history. A long time ago—five or six hundred years ago, before the Ministry of Magic, Britain was ruled by the oldest wizarding families. I don't know the details, but after a while, a new group of Britons wanted to change the government._

_A lot of the old families came together to overthrow one of the others—the most powerful one. They fought for a long time—generation after generation. Eventually, they overthrew the other family, but there was a treaty. It made sure that a law was forced through, one that could not be reversed, that gave pureblood families—particularly the family that was overthrown—more rights than those that weren't pureblood._

_Eventually, some of the older pureblood families came to have some sort of honour code that came with having the Old Laws apply to you. Malfoy wouldn't bluff about something if he mentioned the Old Laws—his family spends too much time trying to seem noble to bluff about that._

"No. Definitely not bluffing," Harry agreed. He hadn't noticed that Hermione Granger was in the middle of chastising him for accepting to duel a fellow student.

"—hundreds of points from Gryffindor! Professor Snape will _murder_ you if he catches you, not to mention that duels are _illegal_ ! It's irresponsible! All of the students look up to you—and you go off dueling Slytherins—"

"Hermione!" Harry cut in sharply.

Her mouth open, another chastisement on her lips, Hermione Granger looked remarkably like a fish who'd forgotten her water.

"I'm not going to parade the fact that I'm going to duel him. I'm not going to kill him, so no one will be able to tell by his absence from class," said Harry calmly.

Then, with a fierceness that surprised those surrounding, "And if _Professor_ Snape wants to murder me—I welcome him! A perfect excuse to curse the git!"

The other students shared a glance. Harry hadn't been overly forthcoming with information regarding his and Snape's quarrel, but it was evidently much more serious than they'd thought. Harry's lack of attendance at the Potions Professor's last lesson had demonstrated that there was a definite animosity, what Harry had just uttered was a declaration of hatred that was unexpected, despite the two's well-documented dislike of one another.

"Harry!" said Hermione, being the first to recover. Her tone was one of scandal. "You _mustn't_ speak of a professor like that! You'll get in terrible trouble! And Professor Snape deserves your respect; he…he…"

"Miss Granger is quite right," said a voice from behind Harry. He cursed himself; too caught up in the moment was he to detect the elderly wizard's presence. "Professor Snape deserves the respect of all of you. And your words, Mr. Potter, are quite inappropriate considering the situation."

Harry turned around slowly, his eyes shut and a look of revulsion on his face. "Which situation would this be, Professor?" His tone was steely and anger was in his eyes when he opened them a moment later.

"A situation which I would very much like to discuss with you tonight after dinner, Mr. Potter." Harry was in the process of opening his mouth to tell the professor exactly what situation he would like to be discussing when Dumbledore silenced him. "Thank you."

He walked off.

Hermione was about to open her mouth again, undoubtedly reprimand Harry on his tone, when Harry spoke up, ending her tirade before it could properly begin.

"Save it, Hermione." He stalked off, down the aisle, occasionally shifting to the side to avoid a student walking the same path, and out the large door of the Great Hall.

Ron shot Hermione a look inspired by loyal indignation before chasing off after his bespectacled friend.

Many hours later, having sat through his morning and afternoon classes silently, Harry trudged up to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Ron and the twins had both been after him to be more lively all day, but Harry simply was not in the mood. He was angry; angry at Dumbledore for being Dumbledore, angry at Hermione Granger for nagging him, angry at Draco Malfoy for being such a git…

Harry was going up to his dormitory to look through his _Standard Book of Spells,_ hoping to find an offensive spell that could be useful in his midnight duel. Before, he was reluctant to agree to the duel, but now he found himself anticipating it. He _wanted_ the opportunity to take some frustration out on a racist like Draco Malfoy. Sure, he wasn't very pleased with Hermione Granger at the moment, nor was he currently fond of her adoration for rules, but it was very low indeed to insult someone based solely on the quality of their blood.

He would, however, be sure to jump wide of any curse that could possibly hurt him. His newfound care for his physical wellbeing had very little to do with himself, and everything to do with his mentally conversing companion.

He felt, in some way that he was sure had something to do with his upbringing, felt that he was, in a way, stronger than Ginny. His flesh had been hardened, his senses dulled, by years of torment at the hands of his relatives. Ginny had never experience such hardship, and for this reason he felt that it was quite alright for him to be hurt, but quite the opposite for Ginny.

_I'm not a baby, Harry,_ Ginny reminded him softly. Harry could sense the reluctance in her words, as if she was afraid to anger him with them.

_I know you're not, Gin, but… you've never been through this. I don't want you to be, not if you can avoid it._

He could tell that, despite the implication that she couldn't handle herself, Ginny was pleased that Harry cared for her as much as he did. It was difficult for Harry to comprehend that Ginny felt an overload of love, but he could empathise without personal experience. Ginny had been treated as the baby her entire life. Whilst this could be useful for getting out of trouble, it also caused an obscene amount of babying to be heaped on her.

Harry opened the door to his dormitory and stepped in. The room was warmer than the rest of the tower, its windows were latched and the sun was pouring through the glass. The weather had been quite as turbulent as Harry's year so far, great highs accompanying great lows.

Crossing to the opposite side of the room to where his bad lay, Harry sat down and unlatched the window. It opened with a creek. The sounds of chirping birds could be heard streaming through the opening.

Exhaling softly, Harry pulled his overlarge trunk from under his bed and undid the latch. Grazing his fingers over the engraved 'H.P.', Harry opened the lid. He dug through the trunk, remembering that the _Standard Book of Spells_ was one of the only books he had not yet needed for class or homework, therefore it would be at the bottom of the trunk where it had been when he'd first packed it.

He rummaged around, lifting up the occasional robe, before his fingers fluttered across a material that felt as if it didn't belong. It felt like parchment, but to his knowledge all of his parchment was in his bag. Curious, Harry dug his hand in the trunk further, picking up the parchment.

To his surprise, it was not parchment at all, but instead it was an envelope. Inside of said envelope, a letter that Harry had all but forgotten about was tucked.

He withdrew the letter, feeling the same unnatural weight he had felt the first time he had held it in his hand. The familiar script, his handwriting, wrote:

_Get to know Ginny Weasley._

_Fate owed me one,_

_Harry J. Potter_

Harry felt Ginny's bewilderment and confusion. _Harry?_ she asked. _Where did you get this?_ Her tone carried not accusation, but Harry felt guilty for having forgotten something so important to their union.

_It just… appeared the day I left for Hogwarts. I was sitting downstairs at the Dursleys, waiting for Uncle Vernon to take me to King's Cross when this just appeared on my trunk. When I got to King's Cross I heard your mum say your name. I figured it was too much to be coincidence, so I asked you for instructions to get on the platform. I thought it would be a nice enough way to introduce myself._

_I completely forgot that I had this letter. I guess too much has happened in the last couple of weeks for me to give it more than a second thought._ It was then that Harry thought that Ginny might actually be angry with him for not telling her. _It's not that I was keeping it from you,_ Harry said quickly, _I'd just forgotten about it._

_It's okay, Harry__—really. I just didn't know about it._ Ginny was well-versed enough in matters of Harry's self-esteem to realise what her being angry with him could do to his mental state; it wasn't something she wanted. In his way, Harry was extremely delicate. He had only just begun to heal from the decade of abuse heaped on him by the only family, a term that could only describe the Dursleys in the most technical of senses, that he had ever known.

_How could you have sent yourself a letter?_ asked Ginny, successfully taking the subject away from Harry's guilt. _Her_ Harry obviously hadn't written it, as he was not able of making bits of parchment appear and disappear on wayward trunks. _And how could you've known about me? You'd never met me before King's Cross._

Harry rubbed at his temples. _I don't know, Gin. It's obviously from me—I recognise my own handwriting—but…_

He could feel Ginny's equal bewilderment. _It's too bad that Dumbledore's so…_ Ginny searched for a moment for an adequate adjective, eventually coming up blank. _His advice on this would be useful—Mum and Dad speak really highly of his knowledge of magic. And everyone says that he is the greatest sorcerer who ever lived…_

Harry sighed audibly. _Well, he's not an option. I don't want him knowing about you…_ he realised how that statement could seem as if he were ashamed of Ginny. He had just begun to retort when Ginny cut him off.

_I know what you mean, Harry, it's okay—really!_

Harry sighed deeply. _Sorry. Ever since I could talk to you again, I've been like this. I don't… I don't want to give you a reason to abandon me._

Ginny felt great sadness at Harry's words. Not only because she knew _why_ Harry was afraid that she would abandon him—adults in his life always had, or they'd put him with people whom he'd _wish_ would abandon him—but because she knew that Harry felt he _deserved_ to be abandoned, and that some small part of him felt guilty for having a friend like Ginny.

Strengthening herself, fighting back her sorrow-inspired tears, Ginny spoke to him in a firm voice. _Harry, I'm not going to abandon you. I promise. We're in this together, and I don't want to go. I don't think that I could, even if I wanted to. What we have now… I don't think that Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter, could ever break it again. It feels… stronger now. I can sense things more clearly—what you see, what you feel, what you think, magicks, all of it—it's all clearer than it was before._

Ginny was overcome with the urge to hug Harry, feeling that if there was something he needed, it was a hug. She didn't notice the feeling that accompanied traveling to the Otherside, she only registered that Harry was there now, before her. She reached over with her arms and embraced the boy.

Harry gave in to the embrace, holding on to Ginny like a drowning man to a life preserver. He didn't expect it when it happened, but it did. A moment into being held by Ginny, he recalled a memory, one trenched deeply in the recesses of his mind, of being held by a woman with long red hair, looking up at a man with untidy black hair and glasses. It was he and Ginny, but it wasn't. He recognised what this was. This was a memory of being held by his parents. With the howl of a wounded dog, Harry dug his face into Ginny's neck and wept. He wept for his parents, that he'd never known them. He wept that his parents had died fighting the Dark Lord, that they had been struck down in an effort to save their only son. He wept for the years of abuse the Dursleys had forced him to endure, the terror he had felt as a young boy when Uncle Vernon would open the door to his cupboard, a large baseball bat clenched in his fist.

He never noticed that Ginny was weeping as well; that she was clutching him every with every bit as much force as he was holding her. He never noticed when a deep bell struck somewhere in the distance, nor did Ginny as the two held each other. He did not notice as he felt his body begin to take solid form again, though he was still holding Ginny.

Neither noticed as Harry and Ginny both disappeared from the Plane and reappeared in a warm room, landing on a soft bed with a gentle thump; the smell of treacle tart, well-kept wood, and something flowery filling their nostrils.


	20. Chapter 20: The Duel

**Chapter XX: The Duel**

Harry and Ginny sat on the bed, holding each other. They were completely oblivious to the happenings around them, their partner being all that mattered in their world. Each tear he wept, Harry could feel years and years of weight being released from his chest. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils filling with Ginny's scent. This, he realised then, was home. This was where he belonged.

Harry raised his head heavenward and let out a deep, contented sigh. Despite the horror of having to relive some of his worst memories, he felt lighter than he could ever remember. And he was hugging Ginny. She was the first one to ever hug him, as far back as he could remember. He supposed his parents must have, but the Dursleys certainly never did. She was the first one to do this, and somehow it felt right. Everything in the world was right.

At least that's what he thought before he opened his eyes.

* * *

Draco Malfoy, the self-anointed Slytherin Prince, stood in a dark room, his wand outstretched and a look of concentration on his face. He was being instructed in the way to defeat Harry Potter in their upcoming duel. He would win, of course; it was a matter of honour, and honour was something that the Potter boy lacked entirely, but that the Malfoys had in spades.

_How dare he presume to be greater than I, the heir to the Malfoy family? He speaks down on me, his filthy Mudblood lips calling for me to leave that Mudblood alone! How dare he? I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius! All Mudbloods are to bow to me! They are our playthings, useful for nothing beyond torture when bored!_

Yes, Draco Malfoy would defeat Harry Potter. His Master would assure that.

"Again, Draco."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, pondering the enigmatic Harry Potter. The boy was truly a mystery. Dumbledore's suspicions about how the boy's power came to be seemed ludicrous to his logical mind. _Never has one so young…_

Dumbledore sighed again. He gazed upon the Sorting Hat, sitting serenely on the same tri-pegged stool as always. The hat was completely stationary, and if Dumbledore didn't know better, he would say it was sleeping. But he did know better, so that was inconsequential. The hat never slept. It was constantly sentient. That much had been demonstrated many, many years ago. Dumbledore recalled fondly the Sorting Hat's finest hour.

Some were born with evil in their hearts. The Sorting Hat recognised this. Grindelwald had never been sorted into a Hogwarts house—he had been ousted by the hat before the opportunity arose.

The hat had sent a jolt of energy through Grindelwald, forcing the boy to rip off the hat and cast it into the ground. Dumbledore had watched it all, standing just feet from the boy. They had been in the same year; they were to attend the same school. Dumbledore still remembered riding the train, newly constructed in his time, with the young Grindelwald. Günter had been his name then.

Dumbledore had often wondered why the hat had cast out Günter, but not Tom Riddle. In the end, he had reasoned, the hat must have seen goodness in Tom Riddle, a goodness that he had not seen in Günter Grindelwald.

Who was Dumbledore to have known then that, many decades later, Günter would grow to be the most feared Dark Lord in hundreds of years? The fear the people had for Grindelwald had never been as powerful as they held for Tom Riddle, but it had been powerful nonetheless.

Grindelwald had been cast out of the Great Hall, the Headmaster at the time being a cold and cruel man. It was many years later that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had learned what became of his onetime friend. For he had considered the boy to be just that when they'd met on the train—he had been a pleasant and polite boy. Not the horror he later became.

Grindelwald had returned to his family in shame. They had disavowed him, sending him to Durmstrang Institute to study magic, far away from their upstanding German immigrant family. Within a decade, Günter Grindelwald would take the fortress for himself and declare war on the British wizarding world.

Albus Dumbledore shook himself. Now was not the time to reminisce about the old war. Now was the time to prevent a new one.

Dumbledore stood and crossed the room to where the Sorting Hat stood. He plucked the hat onto his head and sat on the stool, as he had done well over a century ago.

_Greetings, Albus._

_Hello, old friend._

_To what do I owe the pleasure?_

_I am in need of your advice. More specifically, I must know everything you can tell me of Harry Potter._

The hat was quiet for a moment. But only for a moment. _He was most difficult to place._

Dumbledore was not satisfied. _Was there anything exceptionally usual about the boy? Aside from the difficulty in placing?_ He knew already of the hat's troubles placing the boy—that much had been demonstrated during the sorting. Never before had he known the hat to call out a house, but change its mind half-way through.

_I did not change my mind, Albus. I was overridden. There are forces more powerful than an old sorcerer's hat, you will find._

_Overridden?_

_Yes. I met very strong resistance to the boy being placed in Slytherin. I'd never felt anything like it. Never. You must realise how odd that is in and of itself. I have been in existence for more than a millennium, I have seen many things. But in all actuality, I believe myself to be the same hat I was when Godric whipped me off of his head. It all just goes to show how nothing I know changes me, at all._

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. It was a foolish man, or hat as it were, indeed who claimed to know all there was to know, for there was always knowledge greater than one's own. In essence, Dumbledore believed, no one really changed. A part of them could gain dominance over another, but no part was ever invented by an experience.

_Did you encounter any mental shields? Occlumency, to be precise._

_You know as well as I, Albus, that no mental shield can block me. I can sift through anyone's memories without the least difficulty. But no, Albus, the boy has no Occlumency shields at all._

Sensing that the aged Headmaster was about to say otherwise, the hat spoke up once more. _Why, Albus, do you ask a question to which you already have an answer? Harry Potter most definitely had mental shields, but they were not borne of Occlumency. I believe you know very well of what I speak._

Dumbledore gave a sigh. _But how could it be? He is so young, never before has one so young managed such a feat._

The hat gave a dry chuckle. _You do not truly believe that the boy is bound by _any _limitations, do you, Albus? I know quite as well as you that no Child of Prophecy, with a destiny such as his, could ever be bound by the laws of magic._

Dumbledore nodded grimly. _All the same, Nicolas and Perenelle had not managed a soul bond until well into their forties. How could Harry Potter, even if he is a Child of Prophecy, manage such a thing at the age of eleven? And without meaning to! He could not possibly know of soul bonds, he would have no opportunity to research such a thing. And in this day and age, research is most important to the ritual. You know the details of it, I presume?_

The hat gave a dry snort. _Naturally._

_Then you know that the ritual—which hasn't been performed in more than two hundred years—requires intimate knowledge of the bond-mate? He could not possibly have performed it; the magical power required is beyond him, even now. Added to the fact that he lacked a wand, and it is only logical to assume it is impossible._

_Albus,_ said the hat, _if you have a single fault, it is that you are bound by what you believe to be possible. The boy is capable of nonverbal magic at the age of eleven; do you honestly believe that anything is impossible for him? Do you know who his bond-mate is?_

_Yes, I believe I do._ Dumbledore gave a sigh. _Her name is Ginevra Weasley, daughter of Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewitt. You will recall that Harry was brought to my office but a week ago, covered in deep bruises? Dragged by my Potions Master?_

_I recall._

_Ms. Weasley, or Mrs. Potter I suppose, was covered in the exact same bruises. You know what this means?_

The hat's sigh was very weary. _I do. Though, perhaps I am not the best one to consult on this matter. Would not your friend Nicolas and his wife be more knowledgeable in this area?_

_My next order of business, as it is._

_Good. They, I suspect, will be able to help you more than I. But to the more pressing matter—when are you going to tell Harry? _

Dumbledore gave a very tired sigh and slumped slightly on the stool. _I do not know. Certainly not this year. It would be far too much for him to take… imagine, being married at the age of eleven. Such a thing has not been custom for many hundreds of years. No, I will not tell him the particulars of the bond, he needn't know some of the…ah… finer aspects of it._

_Albus, you know that I disagree with you on this point. He must be told. This and the prophecy both. These are not your secrets to keep._

_No,_ he admitted, _no they are not. But he is not ready… if he knew, I imagine it would be most strenuous on—_

A sharp ringing sounded in the Headmaster's office. Something exceptionally powerful had just arrived on Hogwarts grounds.

_It would appear, Albus, that he has some idea._

* * *

"Ginny?" Harry asked out loud, caution in his voice. "We're in your room."

"What?" she asked, certain she had heard him incorrectly. She looked around and gasped. They were indeed. "How?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered, aware that Ginny's mother could come bustling into the room at any moment. "Something to do with the Otherside, maybe?"

Ginny gave a small gasp of realisation. "Harry, maybe when I went back, you did too. We've never been touching when we go back before, have we?"

Harry shook his head as he untangled his arms from Ginny. "I need to get back to Hogwarts, Gin. If your mum catches me here… Well, they'll probably chuck me out for leaving school."

Ginny thought fast. "Well, there's the floo downstairs… You can use that to get to the Gryffindor common room, I suppose." Ginny made an irritated noise. "No, that won't work—there'd be people all over the place, and I'm not sure you can even use the Gryffindor fireplace to travel, just talk, I think." Ginny gave a resigned sigh after a moment. "Dumbledore would have to let you in, Harry. I'm pretty sure that the Headmaster is the only one who can take off the floo controls."

"But then he'd know that I've been away…" Harry sighed too. It was the only way. He'd have to risk the Headmaster's fury. "What if he expels me?" asked Harry quietly. For the most part, he liked Hogwarts. It was only some of the people, the Headmaster among them, that made his experience there difficult. It was definitely better than the Dursleys.

"He won't, Harry," said Ginny confidently. "You've already attacked him, if he was going to expel you, he would have done it for that."

"He's going to ask where I was."

Ginny was feeling rash. "Tell him."

"I can't do that, Ginny…" Harry said helplessly. He didn't want anyone to know about his and Ginny's relationship, let alone the Headmaster. If he were a man who had not been so very counterproductive to Harry and Ginny's relationship, perhaps he would feel different. As it was, however, he was in no rush to inform Albus Dumbledore.

"I think he already knows, Harry. Ever since Mum floo'd him last week, I think he's known. Or he thinks he knows, anyway."

Harry sighed deeply, unhappily. "You're right, of course."

Ginny gave Harry a grin and a pat on the head. "You keep that in mind, Harry, and we'll get on famously."

Harry couldn't help it, despite the possibility that Mrs. Weasley might hear him, he laughed.

"Oh!" Ginny said softly as she shot off the bed and began rummaging under it. Harry fought down his blush as he tried not to watch Ginny's backside move back and forth as she searched for whatever item it was she was attempting to locate. Thankfully, Ginny was occupied enough with her hunt to not notice where Harry's attention, however begrudgingly, was.

She emerged a moment later from under the bed, a book clutched in her hands. Her face was red, the blood flow having been odd in her former position. Her eyes were alight with mischief and she was biting her lower lip ever so much. Her long red hair was harried and a yo-yo was caught in her fiery mane. Harry smiled softly and, on instinct, reached over and took the obtruding object from her hair. He softly put the strand the yo-yo had been clutching behind her ear. Their eyes met, and both smiled softly.

_This,_ Ginny sent, reverting to their private communication, _is my uncles' book. There's probably something you can use in here on that prat tonight._ In Harry's hyper-emotional state, he felt a warmth that he and Ginny could communicate in such a way. It was more… intimate than verbalising. He allowed himself another soft smile.

Harry lifted the black book from Ginny's palms-up hands and inspected it. In silver, loopy writing were the words "The Spells of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt." He opened the cover of the book, noting the crackling sound it made as it opened. Harry inspected the slightly yellowing parchment and read the first spell written in the book. Done in the same loopy hand, but in red ink, the spell read:

" _**Incantation: Vagus (Vah-goos)**_

_**Affect: Causes eyes to water uncontrollably. Useful for blinding/disorienting the enemy and feigning tears.**_

_**Counter: Finite Incantatem**_

_**Wand Movement: None.**_"

_The first few pages are pretty much useless, Harry_, Ginny explained. _Skip ahead ten pages or so_.

Harry did just that.

" _**Incantation: Incidet (Ihn-see-diht)**_

_**Affect: Causes opponent's legs to freeze up, forcing them to trip should they attempt to run.**_

_**Counter: Finite Incantatem**_

_**Wand Movement: A sharp jab at opponent's feet**_**. **"

_This is one I could use,_ Harry said. He imagined casting this on Malfoy, then scaring him off. He imagined Malfoy trying to run, but tripping over his own two feet instead. The image was satisfying. _I could definitely use this one,_ he reiterated.

Harry skimmed through the book, occasionally giving a snort of approval or a grunt of respect to a spell. He eventually came across one that incited a loud snort from both himself and Ginny. Harry knew instantly that he would have to use the spell on Draco Malfoy.

" _**Incantation: Papulae (Pah-pooh-ly)**_

_**Affect: Causes opponent to break out into terrible acne. Useful against ex-girlfriends.**_

_**Counter: Six weeks' time.**_

_**Wand Movement: Point at desired body part. Has a six inch radius.**_** "**

Interrupting Ginny's helpless giggles, Harry said, _Draco will be breaking out for ages with this! The gift that keeps on giving!_

_He's going to be out for your blood!_ Ginny said, her giggles continuing. _But then_, she said, _he always is, isn't he?_

Harry let out a laugh at the image of Draco Malfoy trying to harass another student while doing a credible impression of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. He felt Ginny's confusion at the comparison, but she was not able to ask her question before a knock on the door sounded, causing both Harry and Ginny to freeze up in terror.

Without further preamble, the door knob began to twist. Harry leapt off the bed and was half-way under it when an old, and at the moment loathed, voice stopped him. "There is no need to hide, Harry."

Harry pulled out, feeling as if he had just had a bucket of ice water dumped on him. Not only had he been caught, but it had been by the one man whom he wanted least to be caught by. His _beloved_ Headmaster.

Harry looked up at the Headmaster, who was sitting serenely in a plush armchair that certainly wasn't there a moment before. Harry got up, and took a seat beside Ginny on her bed. She seemed to draw closer to him, and he to her.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what are you doing in this particular room?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. He moved slowly closer to Ginny, their bodies almost touching now.

"Very well, Mr. Potter." He turned to Ginny. "Perhaps you, Ms…" Dumbledore trailed off a moment in thought, "Weasley, could provide some insight as to why you are on Hogwarts grounds."

Ginny looked at the man as if he were mad. "This isn't Hogwarts, Professor," she said slowly, as though she were speaking to a toddler. "This is my room. You're in my house."

Dumbledore regarded her over his half-moon spectacles for a moment. "No, Miss Weasley, I assure you that the Burrow is not where you are." When Ginny continued to look at him as if he had lost his mind, he continued. "This is perhaps the most incredibly magical room in all of Hogwarts. It is known by many different names, none of which hold any real meaning. The House-Elves call this the Come-and-Go Room, whilst others refer to it as the Room of Requirement. It all depends on your preference, really. This room can, and will, provide you with anything you require, thus the name it sometimes goes by. It also only appears under very special circumstances, and is not visible to those who have not done as is required. Since the room is not always here, it is referred to as the Come-and-Go room.

"There are few who remain that know of this room. The Hogwarts House-Elves, of course, know of it, but they are not typically sociable creatures and are, therefore, unlikely to inform anyone else. I do not believe that even your brothers the twins, Ms. Weasley, are familiar with this room. It is, or so is said, the oldest section of the castle.

"In accordance with tradition, this room was the base of the entire castle. This is most peculiar as, you will find when you exit, this particular room is on the seventh floor. It is not clear how, but it is believed that this room was the original Head's office. The founders had made this their base of operations for all the castle. It is said that, sometime down the road, a Head believed that they should lord over the castle; therefore the office was moved to the tower.

"Have either of you yet discovered what makes this room most peculiar? What its… most mysterious function is?"

Harry and Ginny, both still wary of the orator, shook their heads slowly. _What would the Hogwarts founders want with your bedroom?_ asked Harry, his mind only processing bits of information at its normal rate. He was still shocked that the Headmaster had actually caught him.

"This room shall give you whatever material possession you desire." The old man's left eyebrow twitched slightly. "Within its own boundaries, known by none, of course. That book you hold in your hand, Mr. Potter, is an example of this. I know full well that your uncles, Ms. Weasley, made only one copy, and it was the original. I also happen to know that that very book, the one you hold in your hand, is kept at your home, with your mother.

"I now shall ask again, how did you arrive here, Ms. Weasley?" Ginny did not answer. What could she have possibly said? Dumbledore eyed her wearily. "Ms. Weasley, how did you come to arrive in Hogwarts? In this room, of all places?"

Silence.

And then, "I don't know, Professor." She glared into his eyes, defiance in her gaze. She wanted it clear to him that her use of his proper title was out of nothing more than courtesy. She did not want him to believe she held an ounce of respect for him. Dumbledore got the idea. It was not a lie to say that she did not know, but to say that she was completely clueless as to how her position came about would be.

"Very well." He turned to Harry. "I mentioned earlier that I wished to speak with you." His statement was met with a dumb nod from Harry. "Perhaps we should have that discussion now, with Ms. Weasley present? I daresay she can provide quite as much insight as you."

The eyes of both Harry and Ginny narrowed in suspicion of the Headmaster. Harry cautiously nodded.

Dumbledore smiled a smile that, for an inexplicable reason, filled Harry with no warmth or confidence, not even anger. His was a smile that set Harry's teeth on edge. If Harry's ability to sense magicks did not tell him to the contrary, he would be quite certain that the Headmaster was a man who wished great harm upon him.

"Harry, to start this I must apologise." Harry could feel Ginny's barely in-check retort. _It's okay, Ginny, just hear what he has to say before you steal his wand and Bat-Bogey him._ "My conduct against you was…inexcusable. I realised, almost immediately after casting my spell, that I had destroyed something most important to you. I confess that it remains a mystery to me how this," he waved a gnarled hand from Harry to Ginny, then back again, "managed to reestablish itself so successfully."

Harry suddenly felt a flash of anger. "It wouldn't need to've been fixed if you'd not broken it! How could you possibly have thought I was the man who killed my parents?"

Dumbledore exhaled softly. "I have admitted my faults, Harry, but I do not believe there is anything I can do for you now. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but if I had been correct and not acted… it would have been quite disastrous.

"Tom Riddle has, during his era in hiding, gained the most frightening power of possession. You may well ask how I know this, but I fear that that is something that I daren't reveal while he still lingers on this plane."

Harry made a noise of dissatisfaction, but did not press the point further.

"I wish," said the Headmaster, taking a deep breath; his eyes drifted from Harry's eyes to Ginny's, "to apologise to the both of you. I realise the goodness that I have shattered by performing that spell. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I do ask your understanding. There was every reason to believe, Harry, that Tom Riddle was in possession of you. The two of you are, in some ways, quite alike."

Ginny gave a growl at the implication that Harry could become like the man who'd killed her uncles, Harry's parents, and the hundreds of other nameless, faceless.

Dumbledore held up his hands in show of submission. "Please, listen to my meaning. Harry, you are capable of incredible things, considering your age. Ms. Weasley," he turned to Ginny, "I believe that you are capable of much the same." He turned back to Harry. "Your abilities seemed… unnatural. You wield greater power than any other I know of; you hold the power, if not the discipline, of an adult witch or wizard."

Another deep breath, Dumbledore took. "I had believed your power unnatural; brought on by the malice of the man who orphaned you. But, it would appear that the cause for your power was anything but unnatural."

Harry and Ginny both leaned forward slightly in anticipation of Dumbledore's next words; surely he would tell them _what_ existed between them, not to mention how it had come to be.

They were disappointed.

"Ms. Weasley, I believe that it is time for you to return to your home. It would not do to have your mother worrying about you." Ginny gave the Headmaster a look that showed her inclination to remain where she was, so as to avoid the wrath of her mother. "There are more—ah shall we say, secretive ways of returning you home, Ms. Weasley. Unless you would care to exit in the fashion you arrived?"

_Couldn't if I wanted to…_

"No."

Dumbledore gave a smile. A brief moment later, a gorgeous scarlet bird, the size of a swan, materialised in the air, a burst of flames heralding its arrival.

"This," Dumbledore said with a wave of his arms, "is Fawkes. He is a phoenix, as well as my companion."

Fawkes the phoenix, whom had previously been flapping his wings, staying in place, was now performing intricate aerial stunts; in his way, he was mocking the bipedal humans.

Fawkes swooped down on them, landing on Ginny's shoulder and giving a loud trill of welcome. Then he did something most undignified—he nearly fell off of her shoulder, obviously shaken.

_Hello,_ the phoenix said to both Harry and Ginny.

Harry and Ginny did the natural thing. They said hello back. In doing this, they missed several things—the confused look on the Headmaster's face, as well as the old man's having taken a step back. They also missed the minor detail that what they had just said was not English in the least. The sound they had emitted could best be described as a trill. Harry and Ginny could speak phoenix, not that they knew in the least, neither having ever met one. How were they to know that it was extremely rare for a human to speak to an animal and unheard of for a human to speak the language of the phoenix?

_Forgive him,_ Fawkes trilled, speaking of his companion, _for he knows not what he does. His intentions are noble, but he is misguided._

_Why don't you set him straight?_ asked Ginny.

Fawkes gave what could best be described as a trill of laughter. _It is not everyone who can converse with a Firebird, young friends._

The eyebrows of Harry and Ginny rose very high indeed. _Er—why can't he speak to you?_

_The more appropriate question would be: Why can you?_

_Why can we, then?_

Another trill of phoenix-laughter. _In time, kin._

"I apologise for interrupting," spoke up the Headmaster, "but if you wish to avoid your mother's wrath, I suggest you be on your way."

_Seize my tail-feathers,_ commanded the phoenix.

Ginny stretched upward and did so, then cast a sideways glance at Harry. He smiled at her and she let go of Fawkes's feathers and pulled Harry into a strong embrace.

_Bye, Ginevra._

_Bye, Harry._

She released Harry and grasped the feathers ago. With a flashed smile and a burst of flame, she was gone.

* * *

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall mundanely picking at his dinner. _You need to eat more, Harry,_ Ginny said in a way that was eerily reminiscent of her mother.

_I'm not that hungry. It's the nerves._

"Harr', 'ate, choo gun' ea' 'at?" asked Ron with a mouthful of food. Lacking appetite was one phrase that could never be used to describe the red-haired boy.

_Yes!_ said Ginny.

"'Sal yours, Ron," said Harry, too deep in thought about what Malfoy could know, and more importantly how to counter it, to bother with giving a more full answer.

_You need to eat, Harry! It's not going to do any good for you if you spend so much time worrying about what Malfoy knows that you don't eat and collapse in the middle!_

Harry gave a sigh. She was right. Harry reached over across the table and took his plate back from Ron. "Thanks, Ron."

He dug in.

It was perhaps a half-hour later that the twins materialised.

"After curfew, meet us in the common room, we'll go to that room we showed you and try to teach you a couple of shield spells, all right?"

Harry nodded. "Ron, too."

The twins nodded, albeit with some hesitation. "Ron, too."

Not long after, as the Gryffindors made their trek back to the tower, Ron spoke up. "Harry, don't you have to go meet Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry waved him off. "I did that earlier."

"What did he want?"

"Oh, not much, he just wanted to reprimand me again for skiving off Potions." It would appear that Ginny's brilliant ability to lie under pressure was rubbing off on Harry; his delivery was flawless.

"We can't blame you there, mate," spoke up George. "After what happened, I wouldn't want to go either." In an undertone he added to Harry, "We are going to prank him for that, you know."

Harry nodded his agreement with the proposition.

The four Gryffindors arrived at the tower a few minutes later. Upon arriving, Harry instantly sat in what he had dubbed to be his favourite chair. It was closest to the fireplace and was excellent for brooding, as the contrast of fire on dark made him look quite intimidating. This had served a most useful purpose since word had gotten out about his nonverbal abilities.

"Harry," said Ron, "what do you think Malfoy's—"

Harry let out a deep, weary sigh. It was something he had done with increased frequency ever since the Dumbledore incident. "Not now, Ron, I need to think…" He really wasn't trying to blow him off, he needed to think with Ginny and try and come up with the best spells to use against the blonde Slytherin.

Ron nodded and walked off, his stride dark.

_He'll get over it,_ assured Ginny.

_I know…_

Harry shut his eyes and ran a hand through his obstinate black hair. He was overcome with tiredness he could not explain, but knew that he had to prepare and that he still had many hours to go before rest would come.

He pictured, in his mind, the Prewitt brothers' book. All he needed to do was find a few suitable shield spells and some offensive spells that wouldn't leave Malfoy in pieces or himself in extreme fatigue. He did have classes the next day, after all.

He could feel Ginny clucking in his mind, she thought he needed some rest before he was to go off fighting gits like Malfoy.

It was not long before Harry allowed his head to droop into his chin, allow his eyes close, and let sleep overtake him.

* * *

The dull prodding sensation that Harry associated with being awoken by Ginny was present once more. _What is it?_ he asked vaguely. He was tired and his mind was foggy.

_It's not long before midnight, Harry,_ said Ginny in a affectionate manner.

Harry's eyes flew open. _I never met with the twins!_ He looked around the common room only to find it completely empty. Not a soul was present.

_It's okay, Harry. It's probably more important that you got some sleep; if you had collapsed in the middle of the duel, you'd have had no chance anyway._

Harry ran a hand through his hair. _Why didn't Ron or the twins wake me?_ he asked.

He could feel Ginny's obliviousness. _When you were asleep, I could still feel their magic—you know how Ron's and the twins' feel; they walked past a few times. I guess they just figured same as I did: That it was better to let you sleep._

Harry let out a yawn.

_D'you suppose they went up to bed?_

_Ron, yes. But you know the twins; they do a lot of nighttime roaming._

Harry had to agree. The twins seemed to be pseudo-insomniacs, whereas it took the might of Thor's Hammer to get Ron out of bed.

_Should I go get Ron and see if the twins are in their dormitory?_ asked Harry of Ginny.

_Wake up Ron and bring him along. The twins, though… we don't even know where their dormitory is. And I doubt they're in there, anyway; just wake up Ron._

Harry gave a lethargic nod and rose to his feet. A score of steps later and he was standing in the centre of the first year boys' dormitory. The air was thick and seemed to invite drowsiness as he looked around the circular room, his eyes eventually resting on the sleeping form of Ron Weasley. He crossed to the red-haired boy.

"Ron," Harry whispered harshly as he gave a push on Ron's shoulder. "Ron, wake up!"

"Grummmhermymmmhm," mumbled Ron in his sleep nonsensically.

Harry gave a more firm shove, causing Ron to roll over and mumble in a new position. He was now curled on his side, a thumb in his mouth. "Nuhnahmirry," mumbled he.

Harry covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. Straightening himself, he gave one more firm push, this one causing Ron to topple out of his four-poster. Ron landed on the floor with a thump and an undignified grunt that was quickly supplemented with a disgruntled groan.

"Ron!" Harry said in a high whisper. "Are you coming, or what?"

"Harry?" asked Ron discontentedly. "What are you on about?"

"The duel," he said simply. Ron continued to look blank. "With Malfoy?"

He sat up, his back ramrod straight. "What time is it?"

"Eleven thirty. We need to go."

Ron gave a nod and stood up. "Where were you earlier?" he asked as he dressed.

"I was in the common room the entire time," Harry explained. "I'd fallen asleep. I only woke up a little while ago, but the room was dark so I figured you'd come up here."

"Yeah," came Ron's muffled voice as he put on a sweater with a large 'R' on the front, "Fred, George, and me didn't know where you'd gotten off to, so they just told me to get to bed. Dunno where they went. Were you really just in the common room the entire time? We'd been looking for you, thought you'd slipped out on us or something."

Harry shook his head. "I was in the same armchair since dinner." _Wasn't I?_

He could feel Ginny's agreement.

Ron shot him a slightly confused look, but soon shook it off, the need to get going to their date with destiny taking precedence over any oddity.

The two exited the dormitory a moment later, not noticing that another boy was quite awake and looking at them with interest. They didn't notice when that same boy got out of bed, but a moment after the door had clicked shut, and began to dress.

Harry and Ron made their way back down to the common room, Harry in front and leading the way. They were half-way to the portrait of the Fat Lady when a lamp clicked on, revealing Hermione Granger in a nightgown and a pair of pink slippers. She didn't look overly pleased.

"And where do you think you two are going?" she asked rhetorically, knowing exactly what the duo were up to.

Harry sighed. "Go back to bed, Hermione. This isn't to do with you."

"Not do with me?" Hermione huffed. "Malfoy was antagonising _me_ , wasn't he? If you go off fighting boys in deserted trophy rooms, Harry Potter, you will set an appalling example for a lot of people! They look up to you, and you need to set a better example than to go off fighting every Slytherin who gets on your nerves!"

Harry scowled deeply at the frazzled girl. "I'm eleven years old, Hermione. I'm not here to set examples," he said with supreme impatience. "And it's not you like you weren't ready to hex him too, that day on the Quidditch pitch. Go back to bed, Hermione, you shouldn't be out here."

"Harry Potter, whether you like it or not, people look up to you! You have to act better than the rest! You're the Boy Who Lived—"

"THE BOY WHO LIVED, AM I?" Harry roared. "AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO BE THE BLOODY BOY WHO LIVED ? DO YOU HERMIONE? IT MEANS BEING ATTACKED BY POTIONS MASTERS, HEADMASTERS, AND HOUSE HEADS! IT MEANS BEING TARGETED BY DARK LORDS! IT MEANS HAVING NO PARENTS! IT MEANS BEING A BASTARD, IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD, AND REMINDED OF IT DAILY! IT MEANS BEING A HERO FOR SOMETHING I'LL NEVER REMEMBER! IT MEANS NEVER ONCE KNOWING THE TOUCH OF A MOTHER, OF A FATHER! IT MEANS NEVER KNOWING LOVE! IT MEANS BEING WORSHIPPED, HAILED A SAVIOUR, WHEN ALL I'D LIKE IS TO HAVE A NORMAL, BLOODY LIFE!"

Ron set a hand on Harry's shoulder, while Ginny mentally embraced him. After a moment, he had collected himself enough to say one last thing to the terrified, weeping girl. "Every time I'm treated differently because of who I am, it's a reminder of why I have become what I have. It's a reminder that I have no parents. It's a reminder of the last ten years, when all I'd like to do is forget.

"Hogwarts has offered me the closest thing to normalcy I've ever experienced, Hermione. I'm not here to be looked up to. I'm not better than you all. You're jealous of me because I can cast spells nonverbally, Hermione, but would you pay the price I have to acquire the skill? Would you trade your parents, and your last ten happy years, for silence?

"You're a good person, Hermione, but one day you will look at yourself and realise that it is not your place to rule over others. It's not your place to point out our faults. But until you realise this, your position will not change. You are lonely, I can see that, but until you realise what it is that you do…" he looked at her sorrowfully. "Enjoy the silence, Hermione."

* * *

_I was much too harsh on her,_ confessed Harry after just a few minutes.

_You were a little harsh… but I think she needed to hear some of that. Everyone needed to. And I think you needed to say it._

Harry could only nod. What he said had been very blunt, and quite biting.

"Harry, mate…" began Ron hesitantly. "You were out of order with Hermione. I mean, I know she's bossy and a bit of a know-it-all, but… Well, I just think you shouldn't have said that back there."

Harry sighed deeply. "I know, Ron. I was angry and it just… well, it just came out. I'll apologise to her next chance I get. I just hope she doesn't avoid me for too long."

"I won't."

Harry spun around. Standing behind them, perhaps ten yards off, was Hermione Granger. Even in the dull light of the torches, the streaks on her face were still apparent.

"Hermione?" asked Harry questioningly.

"I," Hermione paused, "I guess the least I can do is come with you to your duel. Nothing would have happened if I wasn't there."

Harry exhaled. "You still shouldn't be here, Hermione. You're a Muggle-born. Malfoy's a bit… unhinged." Hermione's mind didn't seem to change. "If you come with us, we run a larger chance of getting caught. Then we'll lose more points for Gryffindor. You know that, right?"

"I figure we'll lose about one hundred and fifty," she stated in quite a matter-of-fact manner. She gave a shaky laugh, her eyes still glistening with tears.

"Two hundred, I think."

Standing behind Hermione was the last person the three had expected to see near midnight on a Monday. Neville Longbottom.

"Neville?"

"He's a git to me too, you know. Calling me a squib all the time. I want to see you kick his…" Neville blushed brightly enough to be noticed in the torchlight. "I want to see you kick his arse, Harry."

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "Four of us? That's too many! Hermione, Neville, go back to the tower."

"No," said both.

"Ron's coming," pointed out Neville.

"Ron _has_ to come! He's my second."

"Harry," picked up Hermione, "it's nearly midnight. We can't be late."

Another exasperated sigh. "Fine, but if you get us caught…" He left the threat open-ended.

As the quartet hurried to the trophy room (doing so as quietly as they could), Harry cast a glance at his watch. It used to be Dudley's, so the face was cracked down the middle, but it worked well enough. Calculating the "Dudley Difference," the difference between a normal watch's time and the time of a watch that belonged to Dudley, Harry acknowledged that it was 11:53; seven minutes before they needed to arrive at their destination.

Hastening their collective speed, Harry's thoughts drifted to what Malfoy could have planned. _Something nasty, undoubtedly,_ quipped Ginny morbidly.

_I get the feeling I'll be doing a lot of jumping and diving tonight…_

"Up here!" said Hermione. She had taken it upon herself to be the company's navigator; Harry supposed this was a good thing, as she was the only one whom had actually made a map of the castle. Granted, it had been a map that showed where her classes were, but she'd managed something none of the rest of them had.

Hermione's right arm was outstretched, her index finger pointing the way. Harry gave a nod and led the way down the narrow hall.

"Remember," Harry said for the fifth time since the Hermione and Neville had joined the expedition, "if you see Filch, bolt. Don't wait for the rest of us, just run."

"We know, Harry," said Ron in a hushed whisper. "We'll meet at the tower."

Harry nodded, satisfied.

"Well it doesn't matter; we'll be at the trophy room in a moment anyway."

_And then to that prat._

But a moment later, it didn't seem to Harry that he would ever get to that room. How could he, when the pain rendered him immobile?

His scar exploded.

He could feel the darkness around him. Feel the presence of something… unspeakable.

Harry fell to his knees, clutching his scar and shrieking in pain.

"HARRY!" shouted his three companions as they ran towards him.

_Harry! Come on, Harry, get up! You four have to get out of there—now!_ Ginny's voice was frantic. Whether it was a bonded's intuition or something different entirely, she knew that they were in great danger.

"Run," Harry managed to gasp out with a shaky breath. He drew in a rattling mouthful of air as he strained against the insurmountable pain in his forehead. Never had it been as severe as it was now. "Get back to the tower!"

"Come on, Harry!" bellowed Ron as he tried to bring Harry to his feet. Harry's knees, however, were not cooperating in the least, and they could not support his own weight. His eyes were rolling assiduously. His head was lolling and his mouth was slightly agape.

* * *

A spectre gazed upon the scene with curiosity. The boy, his bane, had completely collapsed. It had taken little more than a glance into the boy's eyes from the phantom, before the boy collapsed in fear and pain that seemed excruciating.

The body-less figure smirked in a hideous way. If this was all it took, he would have quite an easy time of things when his body was returned to him.

The phantasm bore his eyes into the shaking boy's once again. He reveled in terror he found in them. The shrieking began again.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood in his black robes. His arms were straight and held at his side perhaps a foot from his body. His wand was clutched firmly in his left hand. He would soon instruct the half-breed in the ways of etiquette.

He and his Master had spent a great deal of time during the last week, making certain that Draco had the curse down as well as he could.

Potter thought he was so great, silently casting spells. Well, he, Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, would show the arrogant boy that he was still a half-breed. He would show him the dominance of the Pureblood. He would show him why his people ruled the magical world.

Draco still remembered the day, a week ago, that his Master had approached him with the offer.

"_Power, Draco Malfoy, it is what you seek. Your father has taught you well, these past five years, but he has failed. He has failed, because he is hesitant to teach you what you must know; what you must be well-versed in if you are to assert your authority, to demonstrate your supremacy over those of unclean blood._

"_I can teach you, Draco Malfoy. I can show you what you must know. I can offer you that which you most deeply desire. I can teach you the means to Harry Potter's defeat."_

_He had been skeptical then. Anger had been his initial emotion, for his Master had dared accused his father of failure. Malfoys were infallible, this he knew well. Skepticism gave way to curiosity._

"_How can Potter be defeated?" he had asked._

"_Through the same techniques as other men. Potter is simply more," his Master had paused, "_ resilient _than most. I can show you how to truly defeat him, how to prove to all others that you are indeed powerful. Potter has humiliated you. He has publicly defeated you without your being able to stop him. Do you wish to show Potter that you are matchless?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Will you allow me to instruct you in the ways?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then we make haste. Potter is a pride-less fiend, he could attack you at any moment." _

And thus began his education in the things that truly mattered. Thus began the road that led him here. To Harry Potter's humiliation. To his defeat.

Oh yes, by the time Draco Malfoy was finished with the Boy Who Lived, the victim would be groveling at his feet. None would ever question that Draco Malfoy reigned supreme in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

Harry Potter was dragged by his companions to the nearest safe-haven. The three were absolutely clueless about how and why their companion had collapsed, but it was a matter of greatest distress. Had Malfoy cursed him? They didn't know, but they did know that they wouldn't find out until they could get Harry lucid.

They let Harry down and leaned him up against a wood-paneled wall, sitting him up. The room was dark, nearly black, but they could make out that the room they were in contained large crystalline objects.

They needed only to shake him once for him to come out of his semi-consciousness.

"Harry?" asked Ron tentatively.

Harry nodded. "Ron."

"Are you all right, Harry? Can you stand?" Hermione asked quickly.

Harry gave another shaky nod. His knees weak, he managed to rise to his feet and stand upright. _What was that, Gin?_

"What happened, Harry?" asked Hermione.

_I don't know, Harry. It was terrible… I could feel your pain in my head too; it was like swimming in a sea of darkness back there… but now it's gone._

"I don't know, Hermione."

" _Lumos!_ " shouted a voice that they had not expected.

All four heads snapped to the source of the noise.

"You're late, Potter," spat Draco Malfoy, his beam of wandlight illuminating his face. He looked demonic with the streaks of light and shadow about his features.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Draco." Harry's voice was still shaky, but he'd be damned before he let show how bad he was feeling in the presence of slime like Draco Malfoy.

_Lumos._ Harry's wandtip lit as well.

"Stand against the wall," Harry said to his three companions, his voice still wavering.

All three made noises of objection, but Harry silenced them all with a look and a bark. "This is my duel. You two," he motioned with his head at Hermione and Neville, "didn't have to come. And you," he motioned to Ron, "you don't get involved unless I die. Remember that." He wasn't about to let Draco Malfoy go on about fair-play by having Ron, Hermione, or Neville aid him.

"Where is your second?" Harry asked Draco, not seeing whichever crony he'd anointed his second.

"Crabbe isn't here. He won't be necessary. When I'm finished with you, I'd be glad to have a go at the Weasel. The Mudblood and Squib, too."

Harry put an arm out to preempt any attempts by his fellows to curse the blonde boy.

"Rules?" asked Harry.

"None."

Harry nodded. It wouldn't matter if a ban on lethal spells was set. Malfoy would never follow it, not even for the Old Laws.

"No rules? That's barbaric!" complained Hermione.

"Yes, yes it is," agreed Malfoy with a smirk.

"Shall we then?" Harry asked with a wave of his hands to the centre of the room.

Harry walked to the edge of the room and inspected a burnt-out torch. He pointed his wand at it. _Incendio._ The bracket caught fire, casting light on Harry's side of the room. It was in sharp contrast to the complete darkness of Malfoy's area of the room.

Malfoy turned as well and lit the nearest torch with the same spell. Even now, with light cast throughout the room, Draco's side still seemed more sinister.

"We bow," said Draco. He demonstrated with a deep bow that displayed his confidence. This worried Harry almost as much as the fact that he was here to duel the boy.

Harry bowed as well, his not quite as deep as Draco's.

"In position," Draco said. He put his right arm forward and raised his left above his head, his wand pointed in Harry's direction.

Harry mirrored Draco.

"We begin."

Malfoy was the first to strike. " _Rictusempra_! " he shouted. The spell raced toward Harry, who quickly sidestepped it. The spell continued on to impact the wall, which remained unscathed. Harry took this to be a good sign.

_Imprimit!_

Harry's spell flew toward the black-robed boy, who lazily sidestepped it, mimicking Harry's defence.

_Pulsat!_

The spell, considerably smaller than it had been in previous attempts, flew toward Draco, who sidestepped again. It hit the wall with a dull thud.

_Your spells aren't very strong Harry, you're too tired._

_I know, I know._

" _Petrificus Totalus_! " shouted the blonde boy.

Harry sidestepped and returned with a spell that he had read in Ginny's uncle's book. _Ignavus!_ The spell, if it connected, would Malfoy into a state of supreme laziness. It would allow Harry to petrify the boy, thus defeating him.

But from the distance the two were at, it was easy for the blonde Slytherin to step out of the way. Harry decided to step up the pace.

_Susurare!_ The curse would force Malfoy to hum, rendering him unable to cast another spell. But the boy dodged again. Harry began to take rapid paces forward as he continued casting spells.

_Pulsat!_

_Aculeus!_ Both missed. The Striking curse was dodged, while the Stinging hex was simply off target.

" _Venonus!_ " countered the blonde boy. Harry didn't know what the spell did, but it was a jet of dark green that made him queasy. He ducked as he kept toward the Slytherin Prince.

He thought he heard Hermione gasp when Draco said the spell. He was in no position to turn around and see if she was all right, it was all he could do to keep moving; he would ask later.

_Expelliarmus!_ It connected!

But the spell was too weak, Harry was too tired. Draco was simply pushed back a couple of feet, his wand still clutched firmly in his hand. And then he began to laugh.

"Best you've got, Potter?"

"Not nearly," he lied. The truth was that he felt he'd be collapsing at any moment. The strains of the night's events were weighing on him heavily, and he was beginning to seriously doubt he could win this fight.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " returned Malfoy, a wicked grin on his face. Harry managed to sidestep it, but it was a disconcertingly close thing.

" _Semisomnus!_ " shouted the boy. This time, Harry was too tired to dodge the spell. The feeling that came with being hit was something quite unexpected. He felt as if he were sleepwalking; a part of his brain registered that he was awake, but it was the groggiest he'd ever felt. Even worse than he had been just a few moments before.

Draco gave a shriek of delight as he rushed to Harry. He grabbed him under the shoulder and put his hand behind Harry's head. The boy's laughter rang in Harry's ears.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do this, Potter." Another gale of laughter. He put his wand to Harry's throat. The next word petrified the entire room, and was said in superlative glee. " _Sectumsempra!_"

_HARRY!_

Harry felt a distinctly searing sensation across his throat, and then the release of freefall. Draco had shoved him to the ground, celebrating his victory with sadistic laughter.

"HERE IS YOUR BOY WHO LIVED!" he shouted at the three pale and huddled lookers-on. "HERE IS YOUR SAVIOUR! DEFEATED AT THE HANDS OF DRACO MALFOY!" He laughed sickly. "Bow down to me, Mudbloods and blood traitors! I have triumphed over your champion!"

Malfoy's laughter was soon accompanied by higher laughter that pierced the surroundings. It shrieked in glee, finding the entire situation uproariously funny. Or perhaps the laughing man was simply a sadist.

Everyone looked around the room nervously, the victorious Draco as well. The voice was disembodied and euphoric. It was terrifying.

Harry lay in the centre of the room on his side, unconscious. Blood trickled from his scar as the intense pain returned. His cheeks burnt as invisible hands touched them and pushed his head heavenward. The last image he saw before he lost consciousness was that of two gleaming red eyes, hazy as if behind a veil.

_A/N: I've got a blog now – find the link in my profile as my homepage. Mostly Rebellion stuff now (actually, only Rebellion stuff for now), but soon I plan on starting another H/G story (or perhaps continuing Phantasmatic). Got a thought? Share it there._


	21. Chapter 21: Funeral for a Friend

**Chapter XXI: Funeral For A Friend (Love Lies Bleeding)**

Ginny Weasley was hysterical. Harry Potter, _her_ Harry Potter, was waning. And it was because of Draco Malfoy. The thoughts of what to do to him flew t-ough her mind.

She could curse him. With the Bat-Bogey Hex. Twice.

Dumbledore should be told. He could have Malfoy expelled! Couldn't he? Malfoy had killed (or nearly) a student. Surely he'd be expelled. But Harry had agreed to the duel. Malfoy had invoked the Old Laws. Wasn't it legal for a Pureblood to challenge a wizard or witch to a duel for a violation of the Old Laws? Damn. It was.

She would curse him! She and her brothers would curse him! It didn't seem enough.

A new rage unlocked in Ginny Weasley.

She'd _murder_ him.

But that would come later. Now, Harry needed to stay alive. Ginny knew that he was losing blood. She knew that he was losing _a lot_ of blood.

_DAMN YOU IDIOTS!_ she shouted in her mind at Ron, Hermione, and Neville, knowing that it was futile; they wouldn't hear her cries. _HE'S DYING AND YOU LOT ARE STANDING THERE DOING NOTHING!_ In her terror and rage, she had not heard the end of the s-ill laughter that had petrified the others.

She was surprised when, at the same time, t-ee things happened. Draco Malfoy fled; a flash that blinded even Harry's closed eyes erupted in the centre of the room; and a moment later, Harry's companions hurried to him and began trying to give aid.

Hermione Granger was in tears. The Boy Who Lived, the wizarding world's saviour, had been defeated in a duel horribly. Draco Malfoy, the most annoying git ever to live, had struck a potentially fatal blow to the raven-haired boy. She knew a small bit of Latin, and knew full well that 'Sectumsempra' was a corruption of the p-ase that meant 'always cutting'.

Harry's form was so motionless on the ground before her; it was the most terrifying sight she ever had beheld. His scar was bloody, a steady trickle running off the sides of his forehead. That in and of itself was horrifying, but the gashes on his neck were more so. From her distance, she could not see the extent of the lacerations, but the blood that pooled under him was telltale of its gravity.

And the laughter… A trill of terror shot up her spine at its tenor. This was laughter that no human could emit. Part inhuman s-iek, part gale of mirthless hilarity, it was the most awful sound she'd heard in her nearly twelve years of being.

But perhaps even odder than the terrible laughter was the _other_ disembodied voice that rang out. "DAMN YOU IDIOTS!" it had s-ieked in fury and anguish to exceed all. "HE'S DYING AND YOU LOT ARE STANDING THERE DOING NOTHING!"

With the influx of this new voice, the laughter ceased immediately and was replaced with a bizarre inhalation of air from the disembodied spectre. Draco Malfoy, whom had been silent since the beginning of the laughter, now seemed terrified. He looked around the room with increased rapidity and was now rolling his wand in his closed hand, wary of attack.

That is when the light exploded in the centre of the room, directly over Harry's limp form.

It was something she never thought she would see in her time. She'd read about it, of course, how a phoenix traveled, but never did she believe she would live to see it with her own two eyes. A glorious scarlet bird soared over Harry's body, circling the boy.

It stopped midway and put forth its talons, s-ieking the most dreadful phoenix song she'd ever heard. It attacked a spot just above Harry's head, apparently infuriated at the empty space. It dive-bombed the space several times before letting loose a triumphant trill and flying down to Harry's motionless body.

The phoenix quickly assessed which injury was most severe. Not a moment after landing, the phoenix bowed its head over Harry's neck and wept. Perhaps that was the most extraordinary sight of the night, Hermione had yet to decide. Never before had she dreamt of seeing the miraculous powers of a phoenix's healing tears. But tonight, a night that would be seared into her memory until the end of days, all impossibilities and improbabilities were void. Tonight, impossible was a distant and vague dream that held no meaning.

Hermione and the others rushed toward the unconscious boy, bustling about and trying to determine if he was alright. The phoenix that had sealed Harry's neck wounds had also lent a tear to Harry's scar, ceasing the bleeding, if not the scar's existence. Hermione laid a tentative hand on Harry's neck, searching for a pulse, finally utilising the technique that her parents had taught her long ago. She found one.

She let out a cry of relief and rested her forehead on Harry's chest, savouring its continuous rise and fall. She didn't get to stay in this position for long, however.

The phoenix let out another trill, warming all of them from the inside out, and landed on Harry's right shoulder. The phoenix remained there for but a moment before both he and Harry vanished in a burst of flame.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, as he so often did, and contemplated events. His thoughts had only just turned to Harry Potter and his affiliates when a matter—one that he had no reason to believe was at all related to the former—presented itself.

Fawkes, Dumbledore's companion of many, many years, gave an unearthly trill of surprise and, perhaps, fear. The phoenix circled overhead for a brief moment before flaming from the office; to where, Dumbledore knew not.

It was not the first time, nor, he was sure, would it be the last, that Fawkes had disappeared without any reason known to his human companion, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. Usually, Fawkes would disappear to partake in an activity of leisure. Not all times were so innocent, however. He remembered vividly several of the occasions that Fawkes had fled. Death had followed before.

The Prewitts, brave warriors of the Light. It had taken half a dozen Death Eaters to strike them down.

The Potters, martyrs in the war against Lord Voldemort and widely loved for their son's accomplishments. They themselves had been brilliant duelists, being amongst the most feared fighters against Voldemort.

The Boneses, a prominent and powerful family whose deaths had been a great loss for the Light. It was suspected that Voldemort himself had cast the curses that extinguished their lives.

The Nottinghams, two sisters who had been spies for Voldemort within the Light; they had been responsible for the deaths of the Prewitts and MacFadyens, and had been found out by a man who know lived a life of exile.

The MacFadyens, a married couple who had been early spies for Dumbledore against the Dark Lord; they had been responsible for the apprehension or incapacitation of nearly a dozen death eaters. Their body-less heads had been posted at the northernmost and southernmost tips of Great Britain.

Peter Pettigrew, a man who hadn't been of a terrible deal of use in the fight against Voldemort, but who had died valiantly in an attempt to avenge his fallen friends.

Ayden Grayson, a great wizard who had led a storming of one of Lord Voldemort's less-protected strongholds. He had been struck down by the Dark Lord himself, having boldly challenged the wizard to a duel. Bold it may have been, but no one had ever defeated the Dark Lord in a duel. Save Dumbledore, of course.

Atticus Renfield, the true hero of the war against Grindelwald. There was nothing the Light had done against Grindelwald that hadn't been made possible by the aid of Renfield. He had been a contemporary of Dumbledore's, being in the same year and house at Hogwarts. Renfield had been a spy for the Light. Immensely powerful, Atticus had deceived Grindelwald and become his right hand. Message after message had been sent by a man who signed every note "A.R." They had been the single most useful pieces of information of the war. Renfield had been killed by a Ministry wizard during the same battle that brought about Grindelwald's demise.

Dumbledore shook himself lightly. Now was not the time to mourn fallen comrades. Now was the time to be sure that no current comrades had followed suit with the formers.

He knew that Fawkes could very well just be going for a fly. But he had good reason to be nervous. The squawk that the phoenix had emitted was one of alarm and surprise. Fawkes would most probably not make such a noise if he merely wished to stretch his wings a bit.

There was nothing to be done, he supposed. He had no way to communicate with Fawkes other than to call him back, and if the matter was something urgent, he sincerely doubted that Fawkes would heed his call anyway. He was a rather headstrong bird.

He gave a sigh and leaned back into his chair, waiting for the return of his fine-feathered friend. Albus Dumbledore dug his shoulders back into this majestic chair and instantly cleared his mind of thought. Now was not the time to have his mind wander.

A short while later, while in the process of buffing his fingernails, Albus Dumbledore witnessed the burst of flame that was telltale of Fawkes' arrival.

Instantly, Dumbledore knew that something was amiss. Fawkes had a boy clutched in his talons and was singing himself a song of praise. It was a tenth of a second later that Dumbledore recognised the phoenix-ported boy. Harry Potter was suspended by the talons, his body flaccid.

"Oh, Harry."

Fawkes gave a trill of greeting, directed at Dumbledore, and gently dropped his load on the old wizard's desk. Dumbledore turned over the boy's motionless body. Harry's head was pushed back, exposing his neck and upper chest. His torso was showered in deep crimson, the bottom hem of his robes torn and showing signs of wear. There were other nicks, cuts, and bruises

All of this was alarming, but he was most shocked to see faint scratches on Harry's neck. The existence of the scratches wasn't disconcerting in the least, they were faint and one would not be considered foolish for thinking them simple wrinkles, byproduct of looking down for a prolonged period of time.

No, what was horrifying about these scratches was that they kept on scratching, kept getting deeper. It was plain to Dumbledore that Harry had been cursed—and was continuing to be cursed. He tore off his own robe and picked up his wand from his desk. The cuts grew deeper; blood began to seep slowly out of them.

Dumbledore waved his wand over the boy's exposed neck, murmuring under his breath. His words were the verbalisation of his worried thoughts. Someone had attacked a student—and worse, someone had attacked Harry Potter.

The Headmaster ran an elderly hand over Harry's neck, lightly removing some blood from one of the wounds. Nearly immediately, the bleeding began to increase exponentially. Dumbledore knew that if he did not cure the boy soon, he would bleed out.

He ran his wand lengthwise across Harry's neck, mumbling the counter-curse to most spells that continued to affect its victim after it had connected. The cutting stopped, but the bleeding continued.

" _Signumvulnerante,_ " murmured he. Harry's neck wounds began to seal, the skin knitting itself back together.

With a sigh, the old man sat back into his chair and opened one of his desk drawers. He reached his gnarled left hand into the drawer and withdrew a phial of red liquid. He pressed the phial to the boy's lips, Harry drank the whole thing. With his right hand, he raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's temple.

" _Exdormio_. "

Ginny knew something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Dumbledore's phoenix had lent his tears to cease her fears, but new ones had arisen. Harry's pain continued and increased. She felt the raw scraping, the sentiment of the spell that Malfoy cast.

She could feel as Dumbledore performed his diligence on Harry, but she had little hope that Dumbledore could succeed where a phoenix, the most magical of all creatures, had failed. She was, therefore, most pleasantly surprised when Dumbledore's endeavor was met with success.

Whatever it was that Dumbledore had done, Harry's pain began to lessen—or, at least, it stopped increasing.

Ginny, letting her mind's eye run away with her, could picture Harry; prostrate on Dumbledore's desk, pale as death, and covered in his own blood. She imagined Dumbledore flipping open Harry's eyelids, his reaction when he found them to be listless.

Thankfully, her imagination did not get the opportunity to build up a head of steam. Dumbledore's whispered incantation brought Harry out of his stupor.

Never before had darkness been so vivid.

Thoughts swam t-ough Harry's head. Muddled p-ases and images, faltering midway in presentation, flew by, their serenity defined in hysteria.

His was disorientation intangible. He would, many years later, describe the sensation, whose happening was not irregular, as quite like looking t-ough foggy glass while riding on a Muggle merry-go-round.

A duo of voices into his ear whispered a name he recognised as his own, but he was infinitely too unsettled to make a play at responding to either with more than a weak moan.

As occasionally happens when one knows not their own name, let alone location, silly thoughts came into Harry's head. With brevity, Harry noted the brightness of the room, the ethereal, unearthly quality of the light, and the figure whose face craned above his own.

"Someone's made a mistake," he murmured in incomprehension.

"Of what do you speak?" asked a voice that sounded distant.

"Too light to be hell," was his groggily uttered response.

He sensed, rather than saw, the white-robed figure above him give a smile. "This is neither heaven nor hell, Harry." As a rather morose afterthought, the voice added, "At least not in the traditional sense."

There was the sound of fabric against fabric, the sight of swishing before his eyes, and a murmured p-ase. A moment later, his head was clearer and he began to truly realise what was going on.

There was recognition in the eyes above him. They were not the frightening scarlet that he had remembered. His were cerulean eyes, a fair deal more pleasant than the vermillion terror of before. But then, he realised, this man was not the one from before.

_Harry!_

_Ginny!_ he said, the relief pronounced in his voice. Her voice was a comfort to him. It was then that everything rushed back to him. _Malfoy, he—Gin, are you okay? Did the spell hurt you too?_ His mental tone of voice was rushed and frantic. He had promised himself that he would be sure to avoid any attempts Malfoy made to hurt him, which could hurt Ginny in the process. He felt deep shame.

_I'm fine, Harry. Really!_ she added when she sensed his disbelief.

"What happened, Harry?" The question was laced with concern. Had nearly anyone else asked the question, he would have sworn it was queried out of genuine worry. But some part of him knew better. Still, there was no point in lying about what had occurred—Harry was sure that the story would have spread t-oughout the student body by morning. Besides, if the Headmaster wanted to expel him, he would have done it by now; he'd certainly had cause to.

He had just opened his mouth to begin his tale when he shut it, at a loss for words.

Dumbledore sensed his indecisiveness regarding the initiation point. "I find that the beginning is often the best place to start."

Harry gave a nod. "At breakfast, Draco Malfoy was being his usual self to Hermione Granger. I told him to stop, or something to that effect. A little while later, he challenged me to a duel. He said something about being well within his rights to talk to Hermione like he had. He cited the Old Laws."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise at this. The Old Laws were quite powerful. "He challenged you to a duel with the aid of the Old Laws, Harry?" Harry nodded. "Tell me, Harry, what do you know of the Old Laws?"

"They give Purebloods rights over those with 'blood less pure than their own.' Malfoy said that, by law, he had the right to call Hermione a Mudblood and insult her family; that the Old Laws permitted it. When he challenged me to the duel, he mentioned that I had insulted his honour, that that was grounds for a duel."

"Indeed it is. The Old Laws were created in turbulent times. They were necessary then, to appease the Malfecit clan. You see Harry, five hundred and ninety-t-ee—"

"I know the history, Professor."

Dumbledore gave an amused chuckle. "I suppose Ms. Weasley filled you in?"

Harry cast Dumbledore a dark and mistrustful look. "How could she have done that, when she's been home while I'm here?"

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "There is little point in lying about your rather unusual connection, Harry. I happen to know that the two of you are quite capable of speaking without words."

_How does he know?_

Harry nodded reluctantly.

"Please continue on with your narrative, Harry."

And so he did. "We were worried then." Harry didn't notice that he was referring to himself and Ginny as 'we.' "You've said yourself, Professor, that I'm easily the strongest first-year here. Malfoy knows that—I've cursed him enough times. We didn't understand why he would challenge me to a duel. We eventually decided that he knew something new, something to turn the tide. He did, as it turns out.

"We looked t-ough Ginny's uncles' spell book, the one you saw in that room, for a few hours. There were a few useful hexes in there, but I was getting really tired, so we took a break. The next thing I knew, I was fast asleep. I didn't wake up again until eleven. The duel was set for midnight, in the trophy room.

"I was supposed to meet up with Fred and George Weasley; they were going to teach me some shield spells. I slept t-ough it, I guess.

"I went up to the dormitory to get Ron, he was my second, and we were almost gone when Hermione Granger stopped us. She reprimanded me for dueling Malfoy; I said some things to her that were… well, mean, really.

"She and Neville Longbottom ended up coming with us. We were nearly to the trophy room when something happened that I've never felt before. My scar, it felt like it was on fire."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in contemplation. There were a number of things that this could mean. None of them were pleasant. All of them were perilous.

"I think I passed out, because the next thing I knew, I was dragged into the trophy room by Ron, Hermione, and Neville. They didn't know it was the trophy room, I don't think. They couldn't have expected me to duel after that.

"Draco was already in there. We fought, but I wasn't standing a chance. I was tired from passing out, and Malfoy seemed to know how to play. We were too far away to hit each other, so I started getting closer. We kept sending spells back and forth, but he hit me with one. _Semisomnus_, or something like that. I don't remember exactly.

"I felt like I was sleepwalking. Then, the next thing I know, Malfoy's got me in a headlock. He had his wand to my t-oat. The spell he used…"

_What was it, Gin?_

He felt her shudder. _Sectumsempra._

"The incantation was Sectumsempra."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose to new, unprecedented heights. "You're sure of this, Harry?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. This was most disturbing news.

Harry didn't doubt Ginny's memory. "I'm sure. I don't know what happened next, I kept feeling like I was getting slashed on my neck, and then I passed out again. No wait, there was something else… Eyes. Red eyes. They were looking down on me when just before I passed out.

"Then I woke up here."

Dumbledore gave, what best could be described as, a frightened inhalation of breath. "Red eyes, Harry?"

"Yes. But they were odd. More like slits than real eyes."

"This is most grave, Harry." Dumbledore began to twirl his beard with his middle and forefinger.

There was silence for a few moments.

"Will Malfoy be expelled, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head, his beard going back and forth with the motion. "Alas, no. I doubt very much that I could punish him at all. Though his spell was a Dark one, it's allowed by the Old Laws. He _was_ within his rights to challenge you to the duel. There are few exceptions to their ban, but the Old Laws permit those exceptions. The Old Laws, more or less, supersede every law known to wizardkind. Many of the laws that were passed before the institution of the Wizengamot are similarly omnipotent. It's hectic, really; so many of those laws have clauses in them to allow them to overrule other laws."

"Professor, why did my scar hurt so badly?" asked Harry, trying to take both his and Ginny's minds off of the git's lack of punishment.

Dumbledore cast Harry a wary glance. "There are several reasons that your scar could have reacted so violently. Unfortunately, I can not say for certain; my speculation is merely that—speculation. A curse scar such as yours has never been seen before, Harry." Dumbledore did not meet Harry's eyes.

Harry's fire roared to the forefront. "You know something. I know you do." Harry practically barked, "Talk!"

"Harry…" began Dumbledore with a solemn shake of his head. "The red eyes you saw. Lord Voldemort's eyes were scarlet; they were more serpentine than humane. They were narrow, the slits of a snake's eyes. I fear that Lord Voldemort has penetrated Hogwarts. It could explain your scar's reaction—proximity can often affect the pain induced by a curse scar. And I know of none other with eyes like those of Lord Voldemort."

Harry stiffened. "The man who killed my parents is here? In Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore nodded reluctantly. "It certainly would seem so. I'm afraid I must end our discussion here, Harry. If Lord Voldemort is truly within the walls of Hogwarts, precautions must be taken. I suspect that he is too weak to make a direct attempt on anyone's life, but his ability to possess people could prove most perilous."

Harry nodded. He did realise that there was important work to be done, having Voldemort within the walls of a school such as Hogwarts was a very dangerous thing indeed. Harry's shakily rose to his feet and departed from the Headmaster's office, his stride unstable.

Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom were sneaking t-ough the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, careful not to be heard. It would not do for Mr. Filch, or worse yet Snape, to find them out of bed at an hour such as this. They'd all heard tales about what Filch longed to make his captives endure during detention; it had been banned for years, but everyone was afraid that Filch might one day snap and torture them all.

"Where do you think that phoenix took Harry?" asked Neville again in a hushed whisper. He looked to Ron for the answer.

Ron shook his head solemnly. "He could be anywhere."

"I'm sure he's okay, Neville," said Hermione, trying to assure herself as much as anyone else. "Phoenixes are light creatures—Harry can't be in danger."

"Should we go to Dumbledore?" asked the plump first year.

"No," said Ron definitively. "We'd have to explain why we were out of bed past midnight, not to mention that Harry has some problems with Dumbledore. Dunno why, but he does."

"Hello little beasties!" cackled a voice from above.

All t-ee heads shot up toward the ceiling.

"Out of bed, so late? Mustn't have that, no we mustn't. Should tell Filch, I should."

"Peeves!" hissed Ron. "Be quiet! You'll get us expelled!"

"All the more reason, ickle firstie!" Peeves sucked in a huge breath. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED! HURRY, HURRY, STUDENTS OUT OF BED! HURRY, ARGUS, HURRY!"

Ron, Neville, and Hermione bolted. They could already hear the wheezing of Filch as they fled. Up and down corridors and staircases they ran, trying to get as far away from Filch as they could.

Finally they reached a place that seemed desolate enough to slow their pace. They were in a narrow hall with large, unlit torch brackets on either side of them. Spider webs lined the walls, causing Ron to shiver in fear, his arachnophobia catching up with him.

They were sucking in deep breaths when they heard Filch's telltale wheezing again.

"Come on!" hissed Hermione.

She bolted toward a lone door at the end of the hall, the two boys on her heels. Hermione seized the cast-iron handle and pulled. It didn't budge. Ron and Neville came over, all t-ee trying to force the door open.

"We're trapped!" moaned Ron in misery.

Neville looked like he was trying to disappear into the stone floor. The wheezing grew louder.

"Oh, move over!" said Hermione in annoyance. She pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at the door's handle. " _Alohomora!_ "

A small yellow light emitted from the tip of her wand and traveled to the lock, which instantly clicked open. The t-ee pushed their way into the portal.

"Good thinking, Hermione."

Hermione bristled. "Thanks, Ron."

They looked at each other for a moment, soft smiles on their faces.

Neville whimpered.

"What is it, Neville?" asked Ron, not breaking eye-contact with the girl before him.

Another, slightly louder, whimper.

Ron turned. "Neville, what is—"

An enormous black dog with not one, not two, but _t-ee_ heads was before them. It started to growl, slobber leaking from its jowls.

"Bloody hell," whispered Ron in shock.

Hermione tugged on his sleeve. "Run, you idiots! I'll take Filch over Cerberus chow!"

Ron continued to stare dumbly at the terrifying beast.

"Come on!"

Ron and Neville turned round and forced open the door. The t-ee managed to escape the room just before their t-ee-headed friend lunged at where they were standing but a moment before.

They were in luck, for Filch was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione was in the process of berating herself as they sought Gryffindor Tower. "How could I've been so _stupid_ ? That was the third floor—the forbidden corridor!"

"It's not your fault, Hermione," said Ron. "I blame Dumbledore! Who keeps a monster like _that_ in a school?" Ron went on to mutter things about 'barmy old codgers' and curse Dumbledore's name. "We could've died!"

"Honestly," said Hermione angrily, "don't you use your eyes?"

Ron sniffed and looked at her in irritated confusion. "Yes, I use my eyes!"

"Well then you'd know that that dog was standing on a trapdoor!" huffed Hermione in irritation.

"You expected me to be looking at its feet?" asked Ron incredulously. "I was too busy looking at its heads! Or haven't you noticed that it has t-ee of them?"

"Ron you—" she cut herself off, having caught sight of Neville.

"Neville, are you okay?"

The boy was very pale and shaking. The round-faced boy looked very lost and alone. It was a saddening sight, to say the least.

"F-fine," he said, his voice unnaturally high.

"Neville, we're okay now. That dog can't get out of the room—the doorway is too small for it to walk out. And I'm sure there are protection spells on the wall so that the dog can't just break on t-ough. Everything's all right," assured Hermione.

Neville nodded shakily.

"Come on," Ron urged, "Filch could come by at any time."

They set off once more, following Hermione as she navigated the halls of Hogwarts to their warm, secure common room.

Albus Dumbledore stood outside of his beloved school, his wand raised and pointed at the portal to Hogwarts. " _Ille Fēcit Invīctus Ædficium. Prōtego Meam Dōmum ē Malē._ "

A brilliantly gold light surrounded the castle for a moment, the entire thing encompassed in the majestic glow. The spell he had cast was a most ancient one, originally used by the Ancient Romans to protect their capital. The spell was most draining, but it made it quite difficult for enemy's to penetrate the walls of the castle. In addition, it had the potential to make any negative spirits experience a fair deal of discomfort—meaning that excruciating pain would be dealt upon the spirit that did not belong. Though there were ways around such consequences…

Harry crawled under the covers of his bed in Gryffindor Tower, his limbs shaking. He clutched his arms over his chest and held himself. His eyes were open and he was rocking back and forth slightly.

_He's here, Gin. He's here. And he's going to kill me. I know he's going to. He's out for revenge. He has to be._

_He is not going to kill you, Harry! He can't. Not with Dumbledore here. Not with me in your head. He just can't._

Harry laughed bitterly. _We can't stop him, Ginny. How could we? All of those people that Hagrid told me about… None of us can stop him. His followers killed your uncles, Gin. Your uncles made all of those spells, but they were murdered by Voldemort's followers. He's bound to be a hundred times as bad._

_I know, Harry. But Voldemort won't try anything. Everyone always said that Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. He wouldn't try anything with Dumbledore here. I think he's afraid of you too now, Harry._

Another bitter laugh. _No he's not. He has no reason to be._

_Yes he does! Did you or didn't you defeat him when you were a baby?_

_Yes, I did. But it's different now, don't you see? He watched me lose to Malfoy. If Malfoy can beat me, why would he fear me? I'm just a first year kid._

_You're not, Harry! You are powerful, and you know it! Maybe you can't beat him now. Maybe he could kill you now. BUT HE WON'T! Harry, if worst came to worst, you could Cross Over. Nothing can touch us there._

Silence reigned for a few moments. _I'm scared, Gin._

_I know, Harry. I am too. But you'll be okay. We'll both be okay. I'm not leaving you, and you're not leaving me. Ever. We'll be okay._

Harry smiled into his pillow softly.

_Thanks, Gin._

Without thinking about it, without meaning to in anyway, Harry Crossed Over to the Otherside. Ginny followed.

Comfort was given as it can only be given between two bonded. Fear became a distant memory, clouded by the goodness that lives all around them.

How was Harry to know that when Ron and Neville came up ten minutes later, they were worried out of their minds?

Harry didn't worry about that. He didn't worry about what the next month would bring. He didn't worry that, by the next day, everyone knew that Harry Potter had been defeated by Draco Malfoy. He took comfort in she he called his.

**_A/N: Thanks for reading._**


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